


mama says to pick the best (and you are it)

by forrestffires



Series: superhero au [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon Compliant, M/M, mostly - Freeform, the author picks only the scenes she wants to write and ignores certain parts of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forrestffires/pseuds/forrestffires
Summary: "See you," Flip says, before sparks fly and he disappears into the night. Buck's left standing on the rooftop alone. The night's still young.-A superhero AU where Buck moonlights as a vigilante, and meets someone in the process.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: superhero au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805557
Comments: 41
Kudos: 155





	1. one glance, and the avalanche drops

Buck pushes the door to Valley’s Baking Supplies, stepping into a quaint little mom-and-pop store with just enough space to fill a few shelves. The bell chimes, immediately followed by the sound of a gun cocking. _Great,_ he thinks, _another one._ The rustling of money being stuffed into a duffel bag accompanies quiet whimpers as a man in a ski mask points a gun at a cashier.

“Get down on the ground.” The man in a clown mask ( _wow, tasteful,_ he thinks) snarls, and Buck presses his lips together in exasperation.

“Alright, alright, don’t shoot,” he replies, feigning a tremble in his voice, as he slowly, slowly bends down, before sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. He topples to the floor, landing with an audible thud, gun skidding across the polished tiles, away from his scrabbling hands. With a flick of his wrist, Buck sends him hurtling into a small rack of magazines, which collapses onto him in a crash.

Ski mask whirls around, barrel of a gun pointed at Buck. The cashier’s hands stop, staring up at Buck with eyes wide open and filled with tears. She’s a small Asian girl, can’t be more than eighteen, and Buck freezes up when the man raises his gun and fires a warning shot.

“Money in the bag!” He turns around to scream at the cashier, who sobs and puts another stack of bills into the bag, but his moment of inattention is all that Buck needs. Vaulting over the counter, he punches ski mask, wrestling the gun from his grip, sending it flying to the other corner of the store. Something must have shattered, because there’s a spray of glass shards hitting his face. Wincing a little, he yanks the mask off the assailant’s face, slamming the man’s face into the hardest part of his knee, making sure he goes down, and stays down. 

The cashier’s eyes are wide as bills surround her, staring at Buck’s face. _Shit,_ he thinks, _if I’d known I’d be knocking people out tonight, I’d have worn a mask._ She seems shaken, and Buck notices a few small cuts where the spray of glass had hit her, but she's otherwise unscathed. Buck dials 911, hanging up before the operator has the chance to ask for his name.

“You’re that hero, right? Uh… Levitate?” The cashier stutters out, eyes never leaving his. He winces, giving a half-hearted smile, turning as nonchalantly as he could to assess the damage to the shop. He might be prepared to fight crime, but he wasn’t an _animal_ , leaving a shop like this in tatters. The magazine stand uprights itself, bags of flour return back to their shelves, and money returns into the register. Grabbing two bags of flour (he’s still gonna get what he came for), he turns back to the girl, fishing out a few dollar bills.

“Don’t tell anyone, yeah? You can keep the change.” He throws a look over at the two assailants, lying unconscious on the ground, before leaving the shop. He feels her eyes burning into the back of his skull. The bell chimes and he runs off, away from the sound of approaching sirens.

\- 

As much as he enjoys busting into crime scenes and knocking idiots with guns into next week, being a full-time vigilante doesn’t quite pay the bills. Firefighting, he found, was a fun, fulfilling way to sate the urge to help people (it didn’t hurt that he was physically fit enough to play off a few ‘impossible rescues’ as nothing more than strokes of luck), while making enough money to support himself and pay off his apartment. He was lucky, too, to have a team that understood him, that supported him in pulling off seemingly ‘reckless’ acts. Sure, he joined up for the adrenaline of pulling people out of burning buildings, but he’d stayed for the team, the friendships and _family_ that he’d found.

Hen whistles. “You’ve got competition, Buckaroo.” Shoving his bag into the locker before slamming the door shut, Buck chuckles, “no way. No one’s got anything on these guns.” He flexes his arms at Hen, just to prove his point, and she throws a boot at him. He’s about to protest, when she points through the glass door of the locker room, at the gym, and anything Buck was about to say dies in his throat. 

_Wow,_ he thinks, _that is one attractive man._ A shock of brown hair, stylishly pushed away with little strands framing his face. A handsome, chiseled jawline. Tall and lean. His arms flex as he jabs at the punching bag, bouncing back on his toes, and then swiftly spinning into a kick. _Wow._ Realising he’d been staring for an inappropriately long time, he swallows, trying desperately not to choke. 

“Who the hell is that?” He asks, and he’s not quite sure what his face is doing. He’s jealous, definitely, because look at those abs; but he’s also in awe, because _look at those abs._ He must be doing a pretty poor job of playing it cool because Hen pats him on the shoulder, and gives him a placating look.

“Eddie Diaz, new recruit.” Bobby says, out of nowhere. New recruit? He looked like he'd been training for the job the moment he stepped into his teens. The new guy, _Eddie_ , finishes beating the hell out of his punching bag, pulling a shirt over his head. His arms flex, sweat glistening on biceps, size rivalling Buck’s own. His face must be doing something again. Chimney laughs from behind him. “Try not to feel too threatened, big boy.” 

Buck scoffs. Him? Jealous? No way. He’s just some newbie, right? Buck’s got 4-odd years of experience on him, there’s no way some new guy is going to change anything, no matter how absolutely shredded he looks.

\- 

Except things do change: on his first day, Eddie pulls a live grenade from a man’s leg. Turns out, he’s also a decorated war veteran, a field medic that couldn’t be more suited to his job as a firefighter. Calm under pressure, cool in the face of danger, and collected even when Buck is shaking in his boots.

When he first throws an arm across Buck’s chest, eyes going wide as they catch a glint of gold in this guy’s leg _(really, who is so stupid to set off a grenade, and how does it end up in a leg?)_ , Buck heart almost stops.

“This is live,” Eddie says, and the world stops. Being in an ambulance going full speed to a hospital, with a live grenade and a newbie on his first day at work was not how Buck had imagined he’d spend this shift. But before he can fully register what’s actually happening, the new guy is talking to Bobby on the radio, telling him what they’ve got to do; the ambulance is pulling up outside a hospital, and Eddie is strapping on a bomb vest.

He’s not going to let a teammate blow himself up in an ambulance, at least not alone, even if he is just a newbie. This guy seems special, and from what Buck’s seen today, he’s probably going to be a big part of the team. Plus, he figures, if things go south, he could probably manage to fling the grenade far enough without it blowing up (literally) in their faces. It might be a little hard to explain, but nothing a bit of dumb luck can’t make up for.

And so he’s pulling on a vest and following behind Eddie, telling Bobby, “you told us to bond, cap, we might end up real close.” He climbs into the back of the ambulance, eyes fixed on the inconspicuous piece of metal, hyperaware of every movement he makes, every sway of the ambulance and every shaky exhale. By his side, Eddie holds his pair of ‘chunky tweezers’ (Buck doesn’t know what they’re called, why should he?) and is gently, gently pulling a live grenade out of the guy’s leg. He mutters something about not rotating the shell that Buck doesn’t understand, but is ever so grateful for when Eddie places it safely into the lead box, allowing him to gingerly close the box. From then on, it’s a blur of motion as they work side-by-side, Buck setting the box down, Eddie preparing to unload the stretcher, before they pull him out of the ambulance and towards the hospital. 

Only when he’s fifty metres from the ambulance, does Buck dare to breathe. His mind is still swimming with thoughts of an explosion, of this new guy, who so calmly pulled an explosive out of a man’s open, bleeding leg, while reassuring him and telling him everything would be fine. That was some metal, he thinks, metal that he’s had to work up over years of experience in all kinds of strange calls. He expects a cursory pat on the back from Bobby, a half-hearted warning to ‘stop trying to give him a heart attack’, but what he doesn’t expect is – 

“You’re badass under pressure.” Eddie says, brown eyes full of amusement, yet Buck knows that this isn’t teasing. He wants to scream, tell him that _no, he’s the one who’s badass under pressure,_ but he doesn’t get the chance. Because Eddie’s got a hand resting on his shoulder, and he’s saying, “you can have my back any day.”

The trust in his voice makes him feel so open, so vulnerable, that he can’t help but drop all the posturing that he’d been doing, trying to show off to his team. The trust in his voice is that between seasoned teammates - friends that have been through years of stormy weather together, who’ve known each other forever - even though they’d just met eight-or-so hours ago. Buck can't _begin_ to describe how that makes him feel. The honest fluttering in his chest speeds up, before he chokes out, “or, you could have mine,” in his best attempt at playing it cool. His lips quirk up in what he hopes is a friendly grin, but is probably more of a half-smile.

Behind them, the ambulance explodes into shrapnel, and all three of them wince. Buck’s eyes widen, because that could have been them, being flung out of an exploding ambulance, heat searing into their skin. They probably wouldn’t have survived, he muses. He'd just polished the mirrors of the ambulance earlier today, and it was a real shame that his work had gone to waste. 

But Eddie is grinning, asking if they’re hungry, and Buck can’t help but laugh, because wow, he’s found a man after his own heart. 

After that stunning first impression, Buck imprints on Eddie like a baby duckling following its mother - after all, it isn't every day that he gets to meet someone quite as interesting. Eddie is rational, yet quick-witted and brave, a perfect complement to Buck's impulsive, spur-of-the-moment spirit, making them a formidable pair in the field and back at the station. They are virtually inseparable on call, working perfectly in tandem, keeping that promise of having each others' backs. Buck finds himself even happier at work, something he'd hardly thought possible. 

\- 

As well as work is going, being able to openly use his powers while crime-fighting still made him light up inside. He'd been in LA for almost five years now, and been moonlighting as a vigilante for the better part of the five. A vigilante, he says, because the word 'hero', much less 'superhero', sounds stuck up and snobbish and infallible, and that's just not Buck. 

Tonight's a vigilante night, one where he camps out in his truck, snacks on fruit pieces and keeps his phone on. A couple years back, one of the more technologically savvy vigilantes had created a mobile application, one that sent an alert for crime, out to whoever was listening. Perhaps it was less glamorous than in television shows and movies, with superheroes swooping down out of nowhere to rescue damsels in distress, but it was efficient, and by Buck's standards, a job well done. A modern dispatch, he thinks. 

The phone beeps, lighting up the darkness of the truck. _Perp's still a threat_ , reads the notification, and he floors it, racing through the sparse streets.

It's a little past midnight, and the directions have led him to a small, poorly lit alleyway tucked between two run-down apartment buildings. Quiet groans resound from a dark figure slumped against the wall, shirt sticky with thick blood. He’s definitely been shot. His face is pale, eyes drooping shut, but his chest rises and falls with each shaking exhale. Glancing around the heaping trash bags, eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, Buck assumes that the shooter is long gone. _Too late, again,_ he muses, hoping that the police can do a better job of catching armed and dangerous criminals than he can. 

Buck taps the man’s cheek lightly to get him to open his eyes, and his eyelids flutter open weakly, he coughs, blood spilling from his mouth, choking out a few unintelligible words. Buck swears, pulling out a cloth from his pocket (stashed _exactly_ for this purpose) and presses it against the bullet wound, mindful not to press too hard.

But then there's a rustle, a crash, and then a shadowed figure is darting out from behind a dumpster, sprinting down the alleyway towards the other end of the street. Turns out the shooter wasn’t as gone as he’d thought. Buck curses: he can't let the guy get away, but he can't let this man bleed out either - EMTs are probably still 10 minutes out. 

Buck is suddenly taken back to when he’d first started, when he was still new to the whole ‘I Fight Crime’ thing: he’d taken off after the assailant without so much as stopping for the victim, and when he’d returned empty handed, having lost the perp to a sea of people, the victim was pale and sullen, lifeless on the floor. A wholly unpleasant memory, one that still casts doubt on his every move. 

Luckily, he's saved the choice when he hears a crackle of electricity. Blue sparks fly, and a figure appears out of _nowhere_. 

"Which way did he go?" He demands, and Buck, shaken and surprised, points dumbly down the alleyway. Blue sparks fly, illuminating the street for a brief moment, and the man appears briefly at the other end of the narrow alley, before disappearing again. Dragging his eyes away from the strange sight, Buck focuses on stemming the slowing flow of blood from the victim’s abdomen, the cloth soaked through and red staining his hands. The victim doesn't look much better, skin turning even paler as seconds tick by. 

"Hey, hey, stay awake okay? Help will be here soon, just keep your eyes open," Buck tries to sound as reassuring as possible, putting on his first-responder tone. "What's your name?" 

"Adam." He says, voice barely a whisper. 

"You got anyone waiting for you at home?" Buck knows that he has to, needs to keep him talking and responsive until paramedics arrive. He can't afford to let him die because he was a shitty conversationalist. 

"Just my sister," Adam whispers weakly, and just as Buck is about to ask, he continues, "we're all alone, me and her. She's gonna be so upset."

It then strikes Buck that this kid can’t be more than eighteen years old, a mere child, and his words shake Buck to the core. "Hey, man, you're gonna be okay, she's gonna be so relieved to see you. Just hang on a little longer." In the distance, the sound of sirens pierce through the quiet LA traffic, and Buck silently thanks the heavens. He pushes the cloth into Adam's hands, standing up to leave before he's seen, but Adam grabs on, pleading with him to stay. Shit, he thinks, I _really_ need to go. 

The sirens are coming closer, but he’s frozen, staring into Adam’s eyes, and suddenly blue sparks are flying, theres a thud, someone’s grabbing him and _zap -_

He’s standing on the roof of an apartment building, mystery man clutching his bicep. Before he can let go and presumably disappear in another puff of sparks, Buck’s mouth opens.

"Wait, you can teleport?" It sounds like a dumb question, but Buck's genuinely curious. He's met most of LA's people with 'special talents', usually bumping into each other when out on calls, but he's never met one who could teleport, much less one who's so in control of the ability. Before he gets a reply, he asks again, "what's your name?" 

And he realises, that if he could teleport and fought crime for fun and some random dude asked for his name, he'd probably teleport away. But mystery man doesn’t move away, instead stepping closer to the edge of a building, looking down at the paramedics loading Adam into a stretcher, and a police officer pushing the gunman into the back of her car. Buck peers over the edge with him. 

"You can call me Flip, I guess. And yes, I can teleport." Mystery man, _Flip_ , settles down on the ledge, eyes flitting between Buck and the alley.

"I'm telekinetic,” Buck admits, not knowing what else to say, eyes still wide in shock. He expects Flip to scoff, or outright laugh at him, so he wiggles a finger and the door to the access stairwell slams open, making both of them jump. He sits down next to Flip and sizes him up. He’s probably an inch or two shorter than Buck, but between the baseball cap, the mask and the hood, Buck can’t tell much else about him. 

“So, do you usually hang around alleyways, waiting for people to get shot?” Flip asks, amusement lacing his tone. Deciding that a man who teleports around catching bad guys probably lives the same kind of life as him, Buck laughs, asking, "do you usually run after shooters?" 

This draws a chuckle from Flip, who says, "I'd assume you're the same as me, you got a name?" 

Buck winces. He doesn't really like his name - Maddie had helped him come up with it, that time when he'd come home after defusing an armed robbery and someone had asked for his name, and he'd just stared blankly at them. After a long, stilted pause, he replies under his breath, "it's Levitate." 

"Cool name," Flip says, "better than Flip, anyway." He glances at his watch, cursing, "it's getting late. I've gotta get home." Down below, the ambulance is leaving, sirens blaring into the distance. Adam will be fine, thanks to them. It's barely one in the morning, and the night's just beginning, but who is he to judge? Everyone he's met has had a side gig. Flip probably has work tomorrow. 

"See you around, then?"

"See you," Flip says, before sparks fly and he disappears into the night. Buck's left standing on the rooftop alone. The night's still young. 

\- 

An earthquake hits LA a few weeks later, and the 118 is immediately mobilised, throwing them into the chaos and disaster that follows. Their first call is to a small, suburban house - a roof caved, trapping a little boy under the debris. Buck hates these calls, where a child's life is at stake and the pressure on their shoulders is even heavier than usual - they're even worse when there's nothing that they can do and they have to let go, have to suffer the ride back to the station with the darkest clouds hanging over them. 

The house is devastated, barely even a house anymore, and the boy's parents are running up to the truck as they approach, pleading and begging Bobby to _please save their son._ One more thing he hates about these calls: watching parents distraught as they think about the one person in the world that they care about the most, trapped under layers and layers of rubble. Looking at his team, everyone bears the same grim expression, tense shoulders, but his eyes are drawn to Eddie. His lips are pressed together in a grim line, expression more panicked than Buck had seen before. 

But work has to go on: they grab jackhammers and power saws and get to work on lifting, cutting, breaking through the slabs of concrete. Progress is slow, painstaking even, and Buck’s muscles groan in protest as he lifts yet another chunk of ceiling, but the boy’s cries are getting closer now. Then Eddie drags a block off the dusty pile and a little boy crawls out, sobbing with all his might. His face is blackened with dust, and there's a nasty gash on his cheek, but he seems otherwise unscathed. His parents rush over, pulling him into their arms, hugging him, peppering his dirty face with kisses and gratitude to the powers that be. 

Hen manages to patch him up, covering his cheek with a thick wad of gauze and a joke that turns cries into watery giggles. Eddie breaks out into a smile, but there's untold sadness in his eyes. Buck's been doing that a lot, just looking at his friend, trying to figure out what he's thinking. A few days ago, he'd been telling Eddie all about the dinner he had with Maddie while the two of them polished the truck, Eddie nodding along, seemingly lost in thought, when Buck had realised that he didn't know all that much about the man. He never seemed to say anything back, never seemed to reveal anything about himself, and Buck took personal offence to that. He would call himself a trustworthy person, and likes the honour of feeling someone's trust in him, but maybe Eddie just needs a little longer to feel comfortable enough to let down his guard and open up more. Buck also considers himself an open book, someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, every vivid emotion playing on his face. Eddie was quite the opposite, never letting anything shake his cool demeanour. 

However, on the rarest of occasions, he would catch a ghost of something else on his partner's face, and looking at him now, Eddie probably has the same soft spot for children, running a mile deep. 

As they bundle back into the truck, responding to a major building collapse that requires the attention of four stations' worth of firefighters, Eddie's pulling out his phone and cursing the lack of cell service. 

"Who are you trying to reach?" Buck probes gently. Eddie hesitates. Buck's about to back off, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but then he replies. 

"My son, Christopher. He's seven."

 _Whoa,_ Buck thinks. Eddie didn't look old enough to have a seven-year-old, nor had he ever mentioned anything about a family or a wife (or husband, Buck won't judge), so this was a definite surprise. 

Eddie passes his phone over, a picture of his son as his wallpaper. And Buck melts. Truthfully, Christopher doesn't look anything like his dad, but he is one adorable child, and Buck tells Eddie as much. 

"I love kids," he says. 

"I love this one," Eddie replies, brown eyes full of emotion, "his mom's not in the picture." Instantly, Buck's admiration for the guy goes up a notch. Raising a child alone, while juggling a job as a firefighter, a job that pushes him to the physical and mental limits? Not something that Buck thinks he's capable of. 

"He's at school today." The _I hope he's okay_ goes unsaid, but Buck gets the memo. For now, all he can really do is give Eddie the reassurance he needs. 

"He'll be okay. A school is the safest place for him to be, right now." Eddie looks like he almost believes it. 

They pile out of the truck, pulling on extra gear and unloading harnesses and ropes from the sides, before Bobby is saying, "Buckley, Diaz, clear the top floors." What formerly was a hotel, standing tall and proud, is fractured in the middle, the top few floors perched at an irregular angle. Furniture is clearly pressed up against the windows, glass probably creaking under the weight. 

On a regular day, Buck loves rope rescues, loves the adrenaline of hanging high above the city, but knowing that someone's at the other end of the line and he's always safe. Today, though, he can't help but think about Eddie's kid. Sure, Eddie's just as capable as he is of pulling off dangerous feats, but at the end of the day, Eddie is the one with someone to go home to. Eddie's the one who has someone relying on him. If Buck decides that if anything happens while they're dangling at the top of the shaky, broken building, Buck will be the one to let go first? That's no one's business but his own. 

Hours fly by as they pull person after person out of precarious positions, rescuing a witty girl named Ali that steals a shot of whiskey from a room service cart, while trying hard not to fall to their deaths. They strap a man to a makeshift backboard, lowering him down twenty-odd floors to the medics on the ground. They really do make a good team, Buck figures, Eddie with the medical training to fix almost any problem on the fly, and Buck with the quick thinking and muscles to help him wherever he can. They've cleared the building after a gruelling sixteen hours, and he feels sore and sooty all over, dirt and dust clinging to his gear, his face and his hair. 

Their feet hit the solid ground, and Buck heaves a sigh of relief. He's so close, so close to going home. Ali's giving him her number, asking him to call her for a coffee date, and he's honestly flattered, and startled that she still has the presence of mind to ask. He switches on his phone, suddenly ringing out with a slew of messages from Maddie. 

"Eddie! There's cell service!" Eddie's face lights up, and he's immediately dialling a number, holding his phone up to his hear, anxiety evident in the hard line of his shoulders. A moment passes, before he relaxes, a broad smile making its way onto his face. Buck's been a little distracted from Maddie's texts, but the palpable relief radiating from his friend puts him at ease, too. 

-

He meets Christopher for the first time, having offered to drive Eddie to pick him up from school. Eddie's bolting out of his truck, sprinting into the school and wrapping Chris up in such a warm hug, that Buck can almost feel it. He bundles Christopher, crutches and schoolbag and all, into the backseat. Christopher's wearing a thousand-watt smile that immediately earns him a place in Buck's heart, alongside Maddie and the 118. 

"Hi! I'm Buck, your dad's friend from work."

"Hi Buck, I'm Christopher. You can call me Chris, though!" He dissolves into giggles, like only a seven-year-old can. 

"How was school today?" Eddie asks, hoping that Chris doesn't know about the earthquake. 

"There was an earthquake today," _well,_ Buck thinks, before Chris continues. "Did you save lots of people?" 

"Yeah, Chris, your dad was a real pro out there. He saved so many people today, I can't even count!" Has Buck mentioned that he loves kids?

"My dad's a hero," Chris announces, with all the gusto and pride that he can muster. 

"He sure is." Buck winks at Eddie, who looks away, cheeks turning a faint pink. 

As they pull up into Eddie's driveway, to a small bungalow painted sunshine yellow, Chris says, "thank you, Buck. For making sure dad's safe." 

Eddie ushers Chris indoors, with a small smile, a wave, and a "see you tomorrow". Buck's heart threatens to explode.


	2. one look, and my heartbeat stops

The next time he meets Flip, he wishes was under better circumstances. 

He's lurking around a rusty, empty warehouse by the docks in the middle of the night. He'd been alerted to a kidnapping case, one that the police had yet to crack. Squatting behind a shipping container, he peers towards the warehouse doors, eyes catching on five shadowed figures huddled together in a circle in the faint light. 

_They probably have guns,_ he thinks. Usually, Buck has no trouble taking out a couple of armed guards, but if the inside of the warehouse is anything like the outside, there's probably more people _(more guns!)_ waiting. He's powerful, sure, but taking out a whole squad of armed kidnappers with guns isn't in his pay grade. 

A crackle of electricity and the light thud of someone landing beside him almost makes Buck piss himself. The blue sparks fade, and he's looking into familiar brown eyes. 

"Dude, don't do that, you scared me!" He whispers, and Flip has the audacity to chuckle. 

"Hi to you too, Levitate. Whatcha doing here?" Flip asks, as casual as someone discussing the weather would be. 

Buck plays along. "Nothing much. Just trying to get this girl out of there." He points to the warehouse. Before he'd accepted this assignment, he'd done a fair bit of reading on the victim. She's a schoolteacher, a little under five and a half feet, young, pretty, and unassuming. Her name's Angela. She wouldn't have been his first choice for a kidnapping, until he'd seen the proposed motive. _Heiress,_ the file said, and accompanying pictures of her family and their home were enough to make Buck's eyes bulge out of their sockets. 

"I figured as much. Need some help?" 

Going serious, Buck quickly gives him the rundown. "There's about five men outside the warehouse, all armed and alert. I don't have eyes inside, though, so there could be any number of people inside. If we make too much noise going in, there's probably going to be a lot more firing than there has to be."

"So surprise them, then?" 

"Yeah. I can get their guns away from the guys outside, knock them out before they know what's coming."

"Well, I'm a master of surprises," Flip deadpans, and Buck has to fight back a laugh. They edge closer to the structure, obscured by the shadows of crates and containers. 

Buck prepares himself for the action about to ensue. "Okay, three, two, one, go." 

He swipes, and all five guards have their guns jerked out of their hands. Blue sparks appear next to him, before Flip is landing roughly on a guard's shoulders, pushing him to the ground from the impact. He's a blur of motion, turning and kicking with practiced precision and immense ease and gracefulness. The heel of his boot makes contact with someone's throat, but before they can retaliate, Flip's gone and appearing behind them, making their knees buckle. 

Buck watches, breath caught in his throat. In all his years, he'd never seen anyone look so _beautiful_ while fighting before. He knows, from experience, that fighting is a sweaty, gruelling struggle for power, but Flip makes it seem so effortless. He's sweeping a guard off his feet, and there's already almost no one left standing, and Buck's thinking _where the hell has this guy been my whole life?_. He holds off five guards with such ease that Buck almost forgets that he's supposed to be there too, helping. 

Only when Flip's back is turned, too absorbed in trading blows with one of the stronger guards to notice the lithe figure behind him, knife glinting, does Buck jolt into motion. He feels a little embarrassed, after all, he's got experience doing this, so why is he feeling so _slow?_

Her knife flies out of her hand, and she looks at her hand, horrified, before Buck is digging his shoe into her calf and twisting her arm, sending her sprawling into the ground, unconscious. Next to him, Flip's guard is face-down on the ground, and they're looking around at the incapacitated guards. Hurt, but not dead, Buck thinks. Much as he hates people as despicable as them, they probably have a life outside of this - family, friends, people who care about them. Maybe they have someone waiting for them to finish working, and maybe they're not that different from Buck.

"What's next?" Flip asks, and in the light, Buck realises that he has very pretty brown eyes, a little reminiscent of a pair that he's recently gotten more acquainted with. Brushing thoughts of _Eddie_ from his mind, Buck looks around. 

"We don't know what's behind these doors - I could open them from a distance, while we stay out of any line of fire. That good with you?" Flip nods, before they're trudging over to the side of the warehouse. Buck counts down, throwing the doors open with a bang, waiting for gunshots - 

But they never come. _Suspicious,_ he thinks, it can't be that there's no one inside, right? 

Flip nudges his shoulder, and together, they creep towards the entrance, beginning to hear quiet, muffled whimpers inside. They take a step into the door, and Buck sees her, gagged and tied to a chair in the middle of a huge, empty warehouse. Something's not right. He's approaching, but her eyes are widening, whimpers turning into a choked scream, and Flip’s yelling "watch out" as a gunshot fires. A _zap_ , and he's standing right next to the chair, bullets still firing rapidly. 

He's stunned, realising just how close he was to not making it out of that warehouse. He looks down, sees a frantic expression that probably mirrors his own: he's once again trying to catch up. Flip's no longer next to him, he realises, but he sees him wrestle the gun from the shooter's grip, and knock him out with the same practiced efficiency as Buck had seen earlier. He busies himself with trying to free Angela, who's staring wide-eyed at Flip. _Wouldn't blame her,_ Buck thinks, as he saws the rope apart with his knife. Once her hands are free, she's clinging on to Buck, absolutely terrified. His heart hurts, seeing the bruises and scrapes on her wrists, and the dried blood that seems to be matting her hair. 

Flip returns to his side, and he's barely opened his mouth when the echoing of footsteps fills the warehouse. There's more, Buck panics, thinking it's too late. But there's a firm hand on his arm, and a quick _zap_ sounds - 

They're standing in a small alley. 

He breathes deeply, trying to ground himself. The sounds of gunshots still linger in his mind. 

"The hospital's just around the corner," he hears, and Flip is gently supporting Angela, helping her towards the hospital entrance. It's nearing three in the morning, and the parking lot is thankfully empty. 

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” Flip says over his shoulder. Angela turns too, knodding a silent _thank you_ in his direction. 

Buck paces restlessly up and down the alleyway. That could’ve gone so far south - he could be lying dead on the floor of a dusty warehouse, where he probably wouldn't be discovered until a week later. That could've been him, if it wasn't for Flip. The guy seems to have tons of experience over Buck, and seeing him take out so many guards with such ease sent a jolt down Buck's spine. Admiration, partially, but mixed with something else. 

"Don't think so hard, you'll hurt yourself." Buck jumps a little, nerves still on edge. He doesn't quite know what to say, so he settles for a quiet, "thanks, man." 

He can't see Flip's face, but he expects that the man has an eyebrow raised. 

"Let's just hang out for a while, yeah? Help you calm down." Flip says, before there's a warm hand on his shoulder and they're standing, again, on the top of the building where they first met. Buck laughs in awe. 

"How does it work? Your teleportation?" 

"Well, I just kind of imagine where I want to go, it can be an image in my mind, or just an address, basically a general description of the place. It's gone wrong a couple times, when I got too general and ended up in the middle of an old tea shop."

"When did you get to LA? Were you doing this before you moved here? I assume you moved here recently, I haven't seen you around before," Buck continues to probe, eager to learn more about Flip. He steers clear of asking for identity or anything too personal, because he knows from experience, that people like him tend to want their secrets kept secret. 

"I recently moved over from Texas, found a new job here. And yes, I did do this vigilante stuff back home in Texas, but it's taken a while for me to get familiar with LA, you know, so that I can move around efficiently and not get too lost," Flip replies. He's facing Buck now, and Buck sees warm brown eyes sparkling with mirth in the residual light. "How about you? When did you start doing this?" He gestures aimlessly, but Buck understands. It's hard to talk about, sometimes. 

"I've been in LA for about five years, so I'm pretty familiar with most of the people around. Which reminds me, I think you should contact this person, her name's Quake, she helps to coordinate all of us uh, special people, and she could help you get started." 

Flip pauses, before saying, "you guys have a coordinator? That's ... pretty cool, we didn't have one down in Texas."

"How do you think I ended up at the warehouse tonight? It's all her. Speaking of which, how did you end up there?" 

If it wasn't so dark, Buck might've seen him blush. 

"I was walking by, and I saw you get out of your truck, and I thought you might've needed some backup." He shrugs. 

"You're not wrong, though. I usually get in and out of kidnappings pretty alright by myself, but tonight was rough. Thanks, man. I'm really lucky to have had you there." 

Flip stares at him for a moment, before quietly saying, "no problem. Couldn't have done it without you either, Lev."

Buck pauses. "Lev?"

"Like, short for Levitate? Levitate's a really long word, it's not really easy to say." Flip seems a little flustered, which puts Buck at ease. 

"Oh, I like that. Lev," Buck says, rolling it on his tongue, and he genuinely means it. Flip's clearly still embarrassed, so Buck asks, "where'd you learn to fight like that?" 

Hesitantly, he replies, "I was in the army, special forces. They taught me everything I know, trained me as a soldier." There's a vulnerability in his voice, making Buck fear he's crossed a line, but Flip continues, "was discharged a few years before I moved over." 

Buck nods, not knowing what to say. 

"It's been difficult, adjusting, you know? Like I was so used to being tense and alert all the time, when I first came back I couldn't even sleep properly. But getting to go around at night and help people? It's been therapeutic, like I'm back where I belong." 

Flip checks his watch and winces, and Buck remembers that it's almost four. 

"I gotta go, man," Flip says, but before he says another word, Buck interrupts.

"Wait, uh, my truck is still near the warehouse." As much as Buck loves the night air, he doesn't feel like walking back over to the warehouse. He feels awkward, having to ask Flip to help him out, but he's really got no choice - its at least a two hour walk and the metro is closed. He's _totally_ not trying to drag out the moment or anything. 

"Oh. Let's go then, I'll give you a ride," Flip shoots him a half-smile. Blue sparks fly - Buck's getting used to seeing them and hearing the familiar crackle of static electricity - and they're standing outside of his truck. 

Flip turns to him. _He's really close,_ thinks Buck, _he smells nice._

"Bye, Lev." 

"Bye, Flip." Sparks are flying again, and Buck's standing all alone, truck keys in hand. 

\- 

Buck shows up for his next assigned shift, and it's peaceful and quiet, the kind that puts the team at ease. Bobby's upstairs cooking lunch, which he can smell from the gym, where he's spotting for Eddie. It's a good shift, until Eddie gets a call. 

"Hello?" Eddie's face morphs into a frown. Whatever it is, it's not good. "I’ll be right there.” 

He runs upstairs to Bobby, Buck following closely behind him. “My abuela was looking after Christopher, but she just broke her hip. She’s in the hospital now -“

“Go do what you need to do,” Bobby replies, sensing Eddie’s panic. 

“I’m coming with you,” Buck says, “you’re in no condition to drive.” He knows, that Eddie, under all his rationality, is just as impulsive as he is when it comes to his son. 

So Buck’s speeding down the freeway, Eddie anxiously tapping on the window of the truck. Buck hadn’t known that Eddie’s _grandmother_ was the one taking care of Chris; he’d just assumed that Eddie had some help from somewhere. He wants to help - he always does - but he doesn't want to do it in a way that would make Eddie feel like any less of a parent. 

Eddie's climbing out of the car, moving like he does when the alarm goes off, and he has the same thrumming, nervous energy as they take the lift up to the wards. They hardly speak, Buck knowing that any attempt to would have Eddie all tense and uncomfortable. 

They step into the ward, and Eddie rushes over to wrap Christopher up in a hug. Buck stands there, not quite knowing what to do with his hands, when a lady sidles up to him. 

"Prince Charming over there has been chatting up every nurse that walks by," she says, gesturing at Christopher. "Who are you?" 

"I'm uh - I'm Buck," he says, eloquently, "we work together."

"And here I just thought you dressed alike," she replies, dryly. "I'm his aunt, Pepa."

Buck feels a little self-conscious, meeting Eddie's family under such circumstances, but he smiles and shakes her hand anyway. 

"Abuela is getting too old to be taking care of Chris this way, so I help her out when he can, but I can't be there all the time. It's hard on Edmundo, having to raise that boy alone. Christopher's an angel, and he's got the two of us, but he's struggling." 

He's conflicted, to say the least. He's just an outsider looking in - no matter how close he and Eddie are - and any attempt to offer help or an alternative seems like he's crossing a line. But at the same time, not finding a way to help him feels like letting a friend down, and Buck's not going to be a let down. He'd rather _die_ than let Eddie - or any of his friends, for that matter - down. 

Buck must've been standing silently for a while, when Pepa pats him on the shoulder, following Eddie and Chris into his grandmother's ward. He takes out his phone and dials Bobby. 

Eddie insists that Pepa stay with his grandmother, because he really needs to get back on his shift. And so Chris gets to spend the rest of the day at the station, and is promptly smothered in affection - Hen teaches him how to play that video game that Buck never got used to, Chim teaches him to play pinball, and Bobby makes grilled cheese sticks (Buck loves grilled cheese sticks). They're huddled together on the sofa, basking in warmth and love when Chris smiles a thousand-watt smile that makes everyone soft. 

"Sorry for not checking in with you, cap," Eddie says, and Buck stills. 

"It's alright - Buck here already called ahead," Bobby replies, and then Eddie's looking at him now, eyes smiling, mouthing a quiet 'thank you'. Buck's heart swells at the sweetness of the gesture, seeing Eddie so much more relaxed, so much happier than he was earlier, and it remains filled with affection until Chris slides down the fireman pole for the last time, and he's saying goodbye. 

Buck goes home at the end of the shift feeling more energised than he's been for years, much less at the end of 8-hour shifts. Nevertheless, he crawls into his bed, wraps himself in blankets and dreams of pointy canines and the clacking of little crutches. 

\- 

Maddie has decided to move out of his apartment, deciding that her brother's sofa is no place to crash indefinitely, and Buck has been tasked with moving all her furniture (she'd bought a _lot_ of furniture) into the house. By extension, Eddie and Chim were brought along too. 

Buck had protested - he could lift everything just fine on his own, _powers,_ remember? But she just laughed and said, "maybe I wanna use this opportunity to get to know the people my baby brother has been hanging around for so long."

And Buck softens at that. They'd been apart for so long, Maddie having moved far away with an abusive, asshole husband who she'd finally divorced a while back. 'Maddie's fresh start', she'd called it, smiling so widely that Buck wondered how he got by without his sister around. Now that she's back, he knows that someone will always have his back, and he'll return the favour, even if it means that she gets the opportunity to tell his coworkers terribly embarrassing stories of Buck as a teen. 

So when Eddie and Chim ring the doorbell, offering some doughnuts and coffee to start off the day, Maddie welcomes them with open arms. 

They move things in quickly, even though Buck knows that he probably could've done it faster, and as Chim helps Maddie assemble an IKEA bedframe, he's looking at the doorframe and the sofa standing between him and lunch. Pizza had just arrived, and it was perched on the sofa, as he and Eddie tried to think of a way to make it fit. 

It sounds like a bad joke - _how many firefighters does it take to put a sofa through a door?_

"Maybe we could bring in the jaws of life," Eddie jokes, and Buck is half considering just taking the door off the hinges. Chris is at school for the morning, and Eddie's leaving a little after lunch to pick him up. Buck thinks he's found the solution to Eddie's childcare problem and possibly a whole host of other related issues, but he's saving it as a surprise. He's just hoping that it doesn't backfire miserably, and end with Eddie hating him for being a busybody. 

Eventually, they figure it out - the sofa is actually a two-piece, just bundled up in enough plastic wrapping that Buck thinks it might take welding tools to get through. Halfway through, Maddie takes the pizza off the top of the sofa and walks away, telling them, "get it done soon, boys, or there won't be any left." 

Buck's stomach growls in protest, and from the look on Eddie's face as she walks away, he's feeling the same. They're tearing into the plastic, and Buck is enjoying himself, getting the rare opportunity to rip things apart with his hands. Some part of him never really grew up, he supposes, and anyone can derive pleasure from destroying things sometimes. 

Eddie sweeps off the couch with his hands, and straightening up, he asks, "where's the pizza?" 

A one track mind, Buck laughs to himself, silently hoping that Eddie will bring him a slice too.

"In the kitchen, on the counters," Maddie says, and Eddie bustles off. 

"Where's the beer?" Chim pops his head out of the doorway to the toilet, walking over.

"In the kitchen, fridge," Maddie replies, and the smile on her face is hard to miss. Buck does, apparently. They're out of earshot, and Maddie whispers, "he is _so cute._ "

"Yeah, you should see his kid though," he replies, mind drifting towards brown eyes and a sweet smile. 

"Wait - Chimney has a kid?" Maddie asks, confused, and Buck thinks _oh. Oh shit._ His face probably says as much, because Maddie's giving him The Look that says 'we'll talk about this later', and turns away to make sure her kitchen remains intact. 

Buck's left standing there, awkwardly, because even though Maddie knows he likes men as much as he likes the ladies, it's kind of weird when your sister finds out you have a tiny crush on your coworker. _A tiny crush_ , he reminds himself, _a tiny crush._

\- 

It's midnight, and he's in his truck alone again - this time, he has bagel bites that Bobby had made last shift, sending each member of the team home with a box of them. They're crunchy and delicious, and Buck is savouring every bite. It's a quiet night, and thankfully so. 

His phone beeps. He blinks at the screen. _Valley's Baking Supplies_ , he reads, making him frown. Why would a shop like that be under assault again? It's just a baking supply shop, and the most dangerous thing they sell is probably a bench scraper? Pushing these questions aside, Buck steps on the accelerator and shows himself responding. 

He pulls up to an alley behind the shop, and it's quiet, nothing out of the ordinary. A mistake, maybe, Buck wonders, but it doesn't hurt to check. That's his first mistake. 

The door chimes, as it always does, and all he sees is the panicked expression on the cashier's face before something very solid is hitting him over the back of the head, and then he sees black. 

There's an uncomfortable tightness around his wrists, his shoulders drawn back around the hard press of a chair. He's tied up, he realises, and he forces his eyes open, wincing at the sharp pain at the base of his neck. A muffled whimper sounds from beside him, from the girl tied up in a chair next to him. 

Wait. It's the same girl as the last time. The realisation dawns on him, just as her face morphs into one of recognition and _hope._ Still squinting under the fluorescent lights, he barely makes out the features of her face, but there doesn't seem to be blood on her face, which is good. He can't say the same for himself though, because theres a cold, sticky feeling down his cheek, and he's willing to bet that it isn't sweat. The poor girl - her luck is absolutely disasterous, Buck thinks - is widening her eyes, nodding towards the other end of the shop. 

He lifts his head in that direction, and damn, that's a lot of people. Seven burly men are spread around the shop, as far as he can see, and they're rummaging through the items, lifting bags of flour and sugar, as if they were looking for something. Thankfully, the wall covered in sharps is devoid of searching hands, and as their backs are turned, he carefully jiggles the sharpest object he can find off its hook. He tries not to attract attention to the knife casually floating in the air. Buck's been practicing, lifting small items around his apartment without dropping them or destroying his furniture - last week, he'd actually managed to unlock his door without touching his keys. 

The knife quietly saws through the zip tie that binds his wrists, as he furrows his eyebrows in concentration. Telekinesis is hard, he's always known, nothing like the ease with which superheroes on television used their powers; it's always easy to make a mess, but its tough putting things back together. The zip tie finally gives, and he wriggles his fingers to get some circulation back, considering his plan of action. 

That time is cut short, however, when one guy turns around, saying, "boss, there's nothing -" 

Buck's standing now, and he flings him into a shelf. It's been too long since he's had to throw people like that, and he must underestimate his strength because the entire steel shelf topples to the ground with a clatter, pinning another thug under it. Bags of flour hit the ground and explode into a shower of white powder. The cashier's eyes widen considerably, but Buck doesn't have the luxury of keeping the store neat. 

They're rushing towards him now, one of them charging forward with a knife drawn. Buck lifts the knife he'd dropped on the floor, holding it close to the man's neck, stopping him dead in his tracks. A neat trick, Buck thinks, but it takes his focus away from the rest of the men for just a tad too long. A black-gloved hand grabs his other arm, swinging an elbow into his face. _Ouch, that hurts,_ he thinks absently, before he's letting go and everything in the shop goes skidding away from him. 

He hasn't done that for a while, and for good reason. He'd been holding back, but the shop's in tatters now, not a single shelf left standing; he'd knocked everyone off their feet, making them land hard but not hard enough to hurt them too badly - he's just not that kind of person anymore. 

The men pick themselves back up, and then he's fending them off with his fists and knees and feet. His powers are great and all, but they're more of a long-range attack, where he has the option of undivided attention. But the thing that people forget about telekinetics like Buck, is that he's also six feet of muscle and gym training, and he's not afraid to _knock them out._

He's got three down, unconcious on the floor, when theres a crackle of blue sparks. He's grinning in recognition, and a man materialises out of nowhere, knocking one masked man down to the floor in the process. 

"Need some help?" He quips, before he's moving with the same grace that Buck's getting used to, and where Buck is powerful with his hits, Flip is fast and sharp, knocking another man to his knees and promptly elbowing him in the face. 

Buck laughs, even as he twists an arm and dislocates it with a sickening pop sound. They move in tandem, calling out warnings to each other and working together as if they've been doing it forever - and Buck's having _fun._

The shop is caked in flour, black-clad masked men lying haphazardly around the floor, not a single shelf intact. Not quite what Buck had really been expecting when he'd responded to the call, but this is definitely the highlight of the night - the pure exhilaration and adrenaline that had coursed through his veins as they took down an entire team of men, one after the other. 

"I'll tie them up," Flip says, and he turns to the girl - oh, shit, she's still tied up, Buck thinks as he grapples for a knife - and asks, "do you have rope?" 

She shakes her head, but says, "we've got more zip ties. They're in the back, in a box next to the freezer."

As Flip disappears behind the doors to storage, Buck cuts through her tie. She brings her hands up, turning her wrists gingerly. 

"They're gonna bruise," she complains, "but thanks for coming to help. Again." 

Buck laughs, saying, "yeah, its kind of what I do?" 

"You were pretty cool, I mean I've seen you work before, but I've never seen that cool pulse thing you did. You know, when you knocked everyone down. You also knocked all my shelves down, I'm gonna have to pick them back up and make this place neat before I close in," she pauses to check her phone, "twenty minutes." 

"You're not gonna want any customers coming in." Flip reappears, a bundle of zip ties in hand. He bends down, props one of the masked men against the (thankfully intact) freezer and ties his hands together. 

"I'll help you out," Buck says, "you should probably change that." He points at the OPEN sign at the front of the shop, and then looks around the mess that they've made. 

Focusing hard, he flips one shelf upright, careful not to topple it the other way. It's harder than it looks, trying to control the force on the shelf. He gingerly places the intact flour bags back onto the shelves, knowing full well that he can do it with his hands, but he could do with a little more practice. 

The girl reappears with a broom and a dustpan, and begins sweeping up the layer of flour, sugar and everything else on the floor. 

"What's your name?" Flip asks, as he piles the last intruder next to the freezer. Buck realises that he doesn't actually know, either. 

"I'm Ellen," she says, "and you are?"

"Flip. That's -" 

"Levitate. Yeah." Flip looks confused, and understandably so. Buck is about to start explaining, when Ellen speaks first. 

"Met him a few weeks ago, couple armed men came here to rob the place and he was just popping in for some flour," she says. "He's been coming around from time to time to get more supplies. Quite the avid baker, too."

Buck blushes, because Ellen's the only other person besides Maddie that knows him both in and out of this vigilante life, and he's only just learnt her name. Silently, he continues putting tins of cinnamon onto the shelf. 

"Ah," Flip says, unfazed. "You've got pretty bad luck, huh? Are you the owner of this place?"

"Nope. I'm just working night shifts here. It's my uncle's shop." She pauses, before bursting into laughter. "Also, I'm like eighteen. I wish I was running my own store!"

Buck laughs along, glad that Ellen seems alright despite the ordeal. All the items are back on their shelves, and the floor is almost clean (as clean as it can get). 

Gesturing to the men arranged on the floor - Buck's surprised that none of them have woken yet - Ellen says, "I'm gonna call the cops. I have no idea how I'm supposed to tell them that two masked dudes just showed up, beat them up and then cleaned up the shop for me. They're not going to believe me, at least not after last time."

Buck chuckles, "what happened last time?" 

"They straight up asked me if I was on drugs." 

This makes them laugh out loud, before Flip says, "okay, in that case, we're going to leave before the cops get here. We won't be too far, so if anything happens just scream or something." 

"Of course," she smirks, "I'll be okay. Thanks for coming, guys." 

"Let's go, Lev," Flip says, and Ellen's making eye contact with him and mouthing _Lev?_ Buck sticks up his middle finger, and she just waves them off. 

They're standing in the cool night now, and Flip says, "wanna hang around the park for a while?" This is the first time he hasn't had to rush off after a call, and there is no way Buck is going to pass up on the rare opportunity to get to know him better. So he agrees. He runs back to his car to grab his tupperware of bagel bites and his phone, before jogging back up to the front of the store, where Flip is waiting. 

"How does telekinesis work?" Flip breaks the silence, "because I noticed that you don't usually use it all that much." 

"I don't use it that often in hand-to-hand, because it's a little hard to control. I need a lot of control and focus to get it to do exactly what I want. Maybe it's kind of like, my fine motor skills aren't that great, but I can move really big things pretty easily and throw things. Certain actions are fine, but there are some that I've practiced for ages."

Glancing around to make sure the park is empty, Buck throws his tupperware up in the air, where it hangs for a moment, does a few flips mid-air, before slowly lowering into his hands. Flip's staring at the tupperware with wide eyes. 

"I've been practicing making things float since I was a kid," Buck explains, "when I first started, it was really hard to control. Still, though, motor control is hard." He sounds like a toddler that has developed the vocabulary of a twenty-seven year old, and Flip must think so too, because he laughs. 

"Yeah, I get it. When I first teleported, I ended up in the middle of a shopping mall. Scared the shit out of some clerk, too." 

"Actually, I scared the hell out of my parents, too. I made my sister float." He thinks back to when he was barely five, and Maddie was ten and giggling as she bobbed up and down above her bed. His parents had walked in to see their daughter flying, and being the religious freaks that they were, his mother immediately started praying. Surprised, Buck had dropped Maddie back down onto the bed (Maddie was smart and had the presence of mind to ask him to hold her over the bed), and then his father was grabbing him by the arm fiercely. That was one of the last good memories he'd had at home, and he has to swallow down a lump in his throat. Flip's looking at him intensely, playful conversation having died out.

"Bagel bite?" Buck offers, holding out his tupperware. Flip pauses for a moment, staring at the bagel bites, expression unreadable. Buck rattles the container, prompting him to take one. 

"Thanks," Flip says, but his voice is pinched, nothing like the casual tone he had before. Buck wonders if he's done something wrong, but Flip isn't teleporting away, so he assumes that it's alright. He still doubts that they're at the stage where he can ask him how he's feeling and expect an honest answer, so he sticks to what he does best. 

Talking. 

"Did you get in contact with Quake yet?" He asks, desperately trying to break the silence. 

"Yeah, I got the app too. I'm really surprised at how good it actually is," he says, "back in Texas, we mostly just did our own thing. This is really efficient." 

"Speaking of which, how did you meet Quake?" 

Buck winces a little. "We met on a call, I'd just started and was nervous as hell. Didn't really know what I was doing, but she happened to show up. It was a robbery, and things could've gone really far south. I'm lucky she was there. She basically taught me everything I know, I followed her around for about a year? We were partners." 

At Flip's raised eyebrows, he backtracks a little. "Not like _that._ She's like another older sister." 

Flip laughs, "I'm just teasing. What happened? Why don't you guys work together anymore?" 

Buck exhales. The last call that they worked together really isn't a pleasant memory he likes to go back to, but he figures that if he's going to be seeing Flip around a lot more, he's gonna have to open up a little. 

"Hey, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Flip says softly, picking up on his discomfort. 

"Thanks, man, but I should probably tell someone what happened - no one other than you actually knows," Buck says, quietly. "It's like free therapy, you know," he says, trying to be funny, but it falls a little flat. 

"We were responding to a kidnapping. Some lawyer who'd gotten on the wrong side of a gang. The two of us were camped outside the building, but when we entered, we were ambushed. Quake's power - if you didn't know - is that she can produce vibrations of any frequency. It's really powerful stuff, she can destroy bones and things. Anyway, she'd sent out a bunch of vibrations that basically blew people away - she's like me, doesn't really like people getting killed - but we didn't know that the building was really shaky. I was untying the guy, god, and -" He chokes out a sob, not able to finish his sentence. 

Flip pats him on the back, not saying a word, letting him slowly work through his feelings. He doesn't even know where all this is coming from. 

"I'd gotten his hands free, but then she was screaming out that there was someone behind me and I, uh, I panicked. Went completely nuts. Flung him away from me, but everyone was affected." 

Flip's hand is rubbing circles between his shoulders now, and if Buck wasn't so affected by the story he would have enjoyed the touch. 

"That isn't even the worst part, though. That one blast brought the building down. It collapsed. I almost couldn't pull them out fast enough." 

"We got to the hospital and she almost lost her legs, Flip, she could've lost almost everything because of me. We're still friends, sure, but every time I see her, I see her lying in the debris of that shitty building, barely breathing, and I remember having to pull her out of the piles of concrete and seeing so much blood. I thought she was going to die," he says, and Flip has somehow guided them to a bench, and Buck's slumped into it. 

"She didn't die, and it's not your fault," Flip says, gently. "The building was badly built, and that collapse could have happened at any time. God, Lev, how could you avoid telling someone this? It's the kind of thing that eats you alive, I would know, and it takes a toll on you. In the army," Flip starts, and Buck looks up, eyes meeting Flip's, "I'd lost a friend. He'd jumped in front of me, took a bullet for me because I wasn't paying attention. I was convinced it was my fault, and that guilt just destroyed me from the inside out. I couldn't sleep properly, I couldn't even do my job properly, but my teammates told me again and again that it wasn't my fault, that he made the choice to do it and if I was going to mope, it would mean his sacrifice was in vain."

"What I'm trying to say, is that you need to tell people about these things. You can't just let it simmer inside. It stops you from being in best shape, and in this, we need to be in the best shape we can."

Buck appreciates this. He really does. Flip seems to get it, seems to understand how it feels, and he does feel just a little bit lighter for it.

"I hope that telling me this makes you feel at least a little better," Flip says, noticing that Buck's tears have dried.

"Yeah, that - it really helped. Thank you," Buck says, hoping that he can convey how genuinely grateful he feels. 

"Is it - Is it why you don't have a partner? You're afraid it will happen again?" Flip asks, but Buck knows he already knows the answer. He nods anyway, too embarrassed to speak. He doesn't usually spill traumatic incidents in his life to people he barely knows - but something about Flip puts him at ease. A walk in the park, an opportunity to get to know the other man, devolving into him sobbing on a park bench definitely was not what he was expecting tonight. But he's glad anyway. 

"Tell you what, I'll be your partner for a while. I could do with a guide to LA anyway," he says, before Buck can protest. _What's going on,_ Buck wants to scream, because _how did this happen?_

"Dry up those tears, partner, let's go. The night's still young," Flip gets up, holding out a hand to Buck. He's frozen for a moment, but then he sees it. He sees the chance that Flip is offering - a chance to get to have a partner again, someone who's going to have his back - and he smiles and takes his hand. 

"Let's go, then." 

\- 

Eddie's been oddly touchy around him, Buck realises, as the man in question shoots him yet another worried glance. It's been like this since the morning, and he's getting a little anxious about Eddie, who usually jokes and prods at him like the rest of the team, walking on eggshells around him. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Flip last night, but Eddie can't possibly know anything about that.

"I haven't done anything, right?" Buck asks, as he polishes the back of the ambulance, Eddie stocking up supplies. Eddie seems startled. 

"No?" He says, weakly. Buck raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you not sleeping well?" Eddie shrugs, saying, "maybe I'm just tired. Late shifts and early mornings, you know?" 

Buck frowns. He knows for a fact that Eddie's shift ended at five yesterday, so clearly, he's hiding something. Nevertheless, Buck doesn't push. He does think, however, that it's time for the surprise. 

"If you're free after this, come over to my place later. I'll cook," Buck promises, and Eddie perks up at the sound of that. Buck's not a chef, by any means, but his food isn't bad. 

"Sure, Chris is at abuela's today," he says, as if Buck doesn't already know that. Buck smiles, and sends out a text that he's been meaning to send for a while. 

Buck's halfway through boiling pasta for dinner as the tomatoes simmer in a pan, when the doorbell rings. 

"Who's that? Were you expecting someone?" Eddie asks, from where he's sitting on the counter, watching Buck walk around the kitchen. 

"Yeah, I want you to meet someone." He can't help the smile that's sliding onto his face. 

"Please tell me you didn't set me up with someone." 

"I kinda did," Buck says as he opens the door, Eddie scowling, and Carla's standing in the doorway. 

"Buckaroo!" Wow, he's really missed her. They hadn't seen each other much, but when Buck texted her earlier, she'd responded almost instantly. She's giving him a hug now, and even though he has to bend down to put his arms around her, her hugs are still the warmest, most incredible hugs he's ever had. 

"Eddie, this is Carla, LA's finest in home health care." Eddie's look of confusion morphs into one of realisation, and then one of disbelief. His emotions play out on his face, one of those rare occasions where he lets his feelings show, and Buck's nervous again. What if he's overstepping? What if Eddie thinks he's just butting into things he doesn't know about? 

"I'm red tape's worst nightmare," Carla laughs, and Eddie is smiling. Relief washes over him, seeing the genuine gratitude on his best friend's face and his arms wrap around Buck, and when he pulls away (Buck wishes that he would never have to pull away), he swears that Eddie's eyes are ever so slightly red. 

"Thank you," he whispers, and Buck's feeling high again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of action in this chapter! also they're both really badass (even in canon)!   
> it took fairly long to get done because i kept trying to add more feelings and dialogue (feelings are hard to write, damn) but i hope you enjoyed it! :))))


	3. it's a long and empty road

Things are going good. Great, even. Buck doesn’t think his life has ever been better. Ever since he'd introduced Carla to Eddie, he's been rewarded with a smiling, more relaxed Eddie. They work together seamlessly, talk and joke with each other in between calls, and more often than not, Buck spends his evenings at Eddie's house in the company of Chris, Eddie, and sometimes even Carla. 

Eddie can't seem to thank him enough for bringing Carla into the picture - he'll bring Chris up during dinner conversations, talk about how grateful he is to have amazing hired help like Carla, all with a twinkle in his eye directed at Buck. 

And Buck can't believe how lucky he is. Every now and then he's struck with pangs of loneliness, feelings so suffocating that he wants to curl up into himself and hide from the world. He still feels them sometimes, but now he's pulled out from slumps with the sound of giggles and pure joy. For the first time in his life, he doesn't feel completely alone. 

Such is their friendship: it brings peace for Eddie, company for Buck, and all the loving attention Chris needs. It's become such a big part of his life - a life that revolves almost solely around his best friend and his best friend's son. 

Which, according to Maddie, sounds awfully strange for a single twenty-seven year old man. 

"What's going on with you and Eddie?" She's sitting on the counter, much like Eddie does when Buck's cooking. 

"Nothing," he insists, rolling pie dough out onto the counter. Upon Maddie's request, Buck's baking an apple pie recipe from Bobby that he's been dying to try out. It's an entire fourteen-inch pie, and he really hopes Maddie is intending to share it with someone, even if it isn't him. 

"Spending almost every waking hour with him and then spending the rest of your time talking about him doesn't sound like nothing," Maddie says, lips quirked in that smile she has when she's making fun of Buck. Buck glares at her, hitting the dough with his rolling pin, using much more force than necessary. 

Truthfully, Buck knows what she's talking about. Even if he convinced himself that whatever was going on was _strictly platonic,_ it felt like they were on the edge of something else. Deep down, Buck knew exactly what that something else was, but he refused to think about it - thoughts of waking up with someone else; of spending breakfast at a table for three; of coming home to a house thrumming with life rather than an empty apartment - these thoughts could leave him wanting too much. 

As much as he wants to believe that there's something between them, that one day, something might happen, he can't give himself too much hope. The hope that swells in his chest could crush him, leave him on the floor for the next few years. But this doesn't stop him from relishing every touch, every accidental brush of fingers, and every heartfelt smile. For those tiny moments, he can pretend there's something more. 

"We're best friends," he says, weakly, as me moves over to the stove to melt butter in his saucepan. Maddie doesn't look convinced. 

"You like him, don't you?" It's more of a statement than a question. 

"Of course I like him. He's my _best friend._ "

"You like-like him."

"What are you, ten?" 

"Evan, seriously. I just want you to be happy." This makes Buck look up from his apples. His own words float through his mind. _How much longer till I get to be happy too?_ He knows that Maddie knows him best, that even after years spent apart, they're still close as ever. She knows his struggle. 

So he replies, feeling the half-truth in his words. "I am happy." 

Maddie must read his mind, because she just presses her lips together, gives him a knowing look, and looks away. 

"How's Chim, by the way?" He asks, changing the topic gracelessly, and Maddie turns red, eyes shifting to the apples boiling on the stove. It then clicks for Buck. 

"You're going to share this with him?" Maddie doesn't reply. Buck gasps dramatically, hand pressed to his chest in mock offence. 

"I cannot believe, that I, your favourite brother, am being _forced_ to make a pie, all so you can have a _date_ with my coworker. How dare you." Maddie's laughing, and he feels warmth in his chest. 

"It's not a date, we're just watching movies and ordering take-out."

"Which is a date." 

"Shut up, like you don't do that all the time with your _Eddie._ " That makes Buck sputter, eyes wide. 

"He's not 'my' anything," Buck mutters, knowing that was only half true. 

\- 

Buck's walking into the station the next day, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. It's going to be a long shift, and he'd deliberately slept earlier than usual, ending the night with Maddie at eight. No matter how many years it's been, going to work still fills his gut with anticipation, excitement for what the day brings. He's really lucked out landing his dream career. He's been practicing positive thinking, after reading an article online about it. _Find 10 things to be grateful for every day,_ he remembers, and frankly, it isn't too hard these days. 

"'Sup," he hears, and Eddie's next to him, carrying his own bag. _Ah, yes, thing number one,_ he thinks. 

"Had a good night?" Buck asks, aching to know what he'd missed out on last night. 

"Was great. Helped Chris with his homework, made dinner together and went to bed early." 

"Dude, you're getting old," Buck jokes, knowing that it's exactly the same as what he'd done yesterday. 

"Yeah, tell me about it," Eddie replies, stretching his neck with an audible pop. 

"Morning, lovebirds," comes Chim's voice from the kitchen. He's somehow always earlier than everyone else, yet chipper and lively as though he's on his first day. He's also always teasing Buck. Buck glares at him, cheeks reddening, and Eddie just ignores the two of them.

"Like you're one to talk. Going to my sister's house tonight, are you?" Buck teases back, relishing the way Chim turns red and stutters. 

"We're just friends," he protests, making Eddie raise an eyebrow. 

Buck's about to say something about _just friends,_ when Eddie's shucking off his shirt and changing into his uniform. Sure, they've changed together many times, but somehow it always has the same throat-tightening effect on Buck. 

Much as his friends tease him about being oblivious, Buck knows exactly how he feels about his best friend. 

He turns away before Eddie can see his face, now flushed and hot. 

"Are you gonna come over after this shift?" Eddie asks, as he buttons up his uniform. It shouldn't be possible to look that good buttoning up the uniform, but Eddie makes it possible. Buck's fully aware of how attractive his friend is, but it's moments like these that he realises just how much of an effect it has on him. 

"Sure. Won't you be tired, though?" Buck asks, knowing that Eddie can get ridiculously grumpy after long shifts. 

"Of course. That's why I'm begging you to come over, so you can spend all of Chris' energy, and I get to rest," he laughs. Buck's heart skips a beat, mind racing through images of the three of them together as a family. Not that he'd ever tell Eddie that. 

"Sure, old man," Buck says, before Eddie's narrowing his eyes. Buck knows what's coming, and he takes off up the stairs to the kitchen, Eddie hot on his trail. His shift is already off to a great start, but he's looking forward to the end already. 

The day starts slow, only two calls before noon, but the calls start picking up. They're on the way to their third straight call, yet another car crash, and Buck's back aches with the effort of prying open car doors. He misses the station, and he says as much when he slumps against Eddie's shoulder in the truck. 

Eddie doesn't say anything, but his hand slides onto Buck's knee, a faraway look in his eyes. Buck closes his eyes, desperate to get a little rest before he has to climb out of the truck and back into the real world. Half-asleep, he tucks his head into Eddie's neck, and forgets the world for just a little while. 

All too soon, the truck is coming to a halt in front of an apartment fire, one that has clearly been going for a while, because almost half the building is engulfed in flames. Buck opens his eyes; he wasn't asleep, not really. The smell of smoke is thick in the air, and dark clouds blanket the otherwise blue sky. All around them, people have gathered, some staring as their homes burn down, some with their phones out to capture the moment on video. What for, Buck wonders, he's seen too many fires that ended in disaster. 

They're bundling out of the truck, grabbing their turnout coats and helmets, bracing themselves for the heat that inevitably comes. 

"Buck, Eddie, I'd normally ask you to go in and stick together, but we're spread thin. Clear the building. Keep your radios tuned." They nod, Eddie bumps his fist against Buck's, and they're running directly into a burning building. Luckily, it's in the middle of the afternoon, so most apartments are empty, making their jobs easier. Buck's clearing the top floors, Eddie the bottom few. 

It's moments like these that Buck wishes his powers were just a tad more useful. He still uses them, when he's sure no one can see, gently picking up debris that seems too heavy for him to lift. He calls out, again and again, checks each apartment while trying to ignore the flames that threaten to swallow up the floor. 

He's gone up two floors when he hears a crash, sounding like plates smashing onto the ground. Light on his feet, he runs over towards the source of the sound. Apartment 717. He counts, one, two, three - and kicks down the door with all the force he can muster. 

A young woman lies flat on the floor, barely visible through the thick smog that billows through the apartment. Buck checks her pulse - she's alive, but barely breathing. Hoisting her onto his shoulder, he glances around the room. The smoke is almost opaque now, and he really has to get out now. He's running down the hallway, legs working overtime as he runs down the stairs. He's seen the effects of prolonged smoke inhalation way too many times. 

Bursting out of the main entrance to the building, Buck rips his helmet off and draws breath after breath, grateful for the fresher air. On his shoulder, the woman stirs, once, twice, before she's fully awake, and then she's thrashing. Buck tries to put her on the ground gently, but it's more of a graceless drop onto the grass. 

Chimney runs over, only for her to grab on to his uniform and cry, "Addie, my Addie's in there, please get her out, you have to get her out!" Buck pieces it together immediately: there's a child still trapped inside, scared and alone.

Chim looks up at Buck, who is already strapping his helmet back on. Eddie's voice rings out behind him, "Buck, don't. The building's gonna come down any second." 

"I can't live with not trying," he replies, before he's running back in. 

He's reaching the apartment, yelling out Addie's name. As he walks further into the apartment, he hears a muffled cough and a whimper. It's quiet, hardly audible over the crackling of flames and the creaking of the floorboards. There's a small figure cowering next to an armchair, not far from where he found her mother. He berates himself for a moment, for not checking more thoroughly, for risking this girl's life simply because he didn't see her. She's clasping a wet towel to her mouth and nose, shrinking into the small space. She seems responsive, not too affected by the smoke yet. Instinctively, she reaches out toward Buck, and he lifts her easily, small arms wrapping around his neck. 

"Hey, don't be afraid, I'll get you out. Close your eyes and keep holding the cloth to your mouth, okay?" Buck gently carries her, cupping the back of her head to his shoulder - the heat is getting unbearable, hot flames licking at the floorboards. 

Bobby's voice crackles through the radio. "Buck, get out now. The building is collapsing. Get out." 

As if on cue, the hallway in front of him collapses, leaving a gaping hole in the floor towards the stairs. Buck looks back and forth, before he takes a chance and jumps - 

It's too far. He's falling through the floor, but his first thought is to _protect her_ and he twists and lands on his back, hard. Pain races up and down his spine, but he peels himself off the floor, thankful that the helmet stopped his skull from being crushed. He's running, trying to get out of the stairs when he's suddenly seized with panic. Addie's once wide eyes have shut, and she's limp in his arms, the damp cloth nowhere to be found. _Shit,_ he thinks. The smoke is becoming impossibly thick. 

Throat dry and eyes stinging, Buck makes it out of the building, just in time for the doorway behind him to collapse to the ground, walls and ceiling caving in. Addie's mom is running up to him, and so is Chim and Hen. Chim lifts her from his arms, but then he stops. Buck knows all too well what that means. 

In his mind, firefighting has always been a job where he gets to save everyone. A job where he gets to see, to be a part of the happiest endings. But in his heart, especially on days like this, he knows that he can't save everyone. An unavoidable fact that tears into his chest, streaking pain up and down his sternum. 

Chim's trying to open up her airway, saying something about the smoke triggering an asthma attack, but Buck's only half listening. He's still caked in soot from the fire, but all he cares about is Addie's unconscious, still body. _Please wake up, please wake up,_ his mind chants. Yet some part of him, deep down, knows that there's nothing Chim can do. 

When Chim sits back on his legs, hands resting on the floor, head bowed, he cries. Her mother collapses on the grass, and lets out a guttural scream that pierces him to the core. It's filled with raw pain and anguish, and Buck half wishes that he'd died instead. All he can do, though, eyes dim and throat constricted, is kneel on the grass, apologising. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't get her out fast enough, I'm sorry," he repeats, again and again, apologising to her mother, to Addie, to Chim. 

In between her sobs, Addie's mother chokes out, "it's alright. It's - It isn't your fault." 

And that hurt more than if she'd blamed Buck for not getting in and out fast enough. If she'd screamed and hit him for failing Addie, it might've hurt less. 

After the first time, Buck desperately hoped that the pain of losing someone on the job would hurt less. It never hurt any less. 

He feels dazed, confused, even as Hen wraps a gentle arm around his shoulders and leads him to the back of the ambulance. He vaguely feels a sharp pain run down his spine again, feels something warm trickle down his arm, but all his senses are tuned to the ache in his chest. 

Somehow, he's cleaned up and strapped into the truck, back straight but head drooping, a far cry from being slumped on Eddie earlier. Eddie's still sitting next to him, but instead of shoulders brushing, they sit as far away as the seat allows. Even through the haze, Buck can feel that _something's wrong._

He doesn't realise how wrong things are until they're back at the station, and it's already nearing the end of their shift. The sun had set a few hours ago, darkness blanketing the sky. Buck doesn't have the energy to talk, giving a half-hearted wave to his coworkers as he remains slumped on the benches, trying to gather enough energy to drag himself to change and leave. Hen pats his shoulder and gives him a sympathetic look, before she's walking to her car. 

"C'mon, get up." He hears Eddie say. There's a hand extended to him. Buck takes it.

"Thanks," he mutters. Eddie sighs. Buck braces himself. 

"Why'd you do that today?" 

"Do what?" Even when emotionally drained, Buck isn't going to let Eddie have the answers so easily. Some part of him still wants to joke and prance around and bring a smile to Eddie's face. 

There isn't going to be a smile any time soon, though. Eddie frowns instead.

"Run into the building again. You know it's dangerous." 

"And let Addie die?" 

"She died anyway, didn't she? In front of her mom, much less." As soon as that sentence leaves Eddie's mouth, he snaps it shut. He knows he's fucked up. Buck's head lifts for the first time in a few hours, and there's anger written all over his face. 

"Would you rather have her die all alone in a burning building? How can you live with knowing that there was something you could've done but chose not to, and you didn't even _try_ to get her out? I don't know about you, Eddie, but I could never. I'd rather know that I did everything I could to save her. Can't you see that?" 

They're like two fires, feeding off each others' anger, burning hotter and hotter. 

"Yes, I know -"

"Then why didn't you do anything?" Buck interrupts whatever Eddie tried to say, but he regrets the words that come out of his mouth. 

"I have a kid to go home to!" Eddie bursts out, raising his voice, something that Buck has never been on the receiving end of. If it was anyone else, they'd probably be intimidated, but Buck isn't going to be intimidated by Eddie. 

"And I don't! So let me do it, okay? Let me do my job. I know what I signed up for, I don't need you to come after me every time I make a decision. You might think it's reckless, but it isn't! I know what I'm doing, so why can't you have some faith in me?" 

Somehow, this has Eddie deflating, his shoulders drooping. 

"I do, Buck. I have faith in you. But you really can't be taking risks like this, you can't keep assuming that you don't have anyone waiting for you. What would I tell Chris, hmm? That his Buck can't come for any more movie nights because he's dead?" It's almost a whisper, Eddie stepping closer, all burnt out from earlier. 

Sensing the defeat in Eddie's voice, Buck feels guilty. He's conflict-avoidant, hates fighting with people, but really hates fighting with Eddie. Something about Eddie's raised voice riles him up, makes him say things he knows he'll regret. 

"I get that you're concerned, but I've got a duty to do. Nothing you can say is going to change that. I don't want to fight with you right now." 

Buck's speaking softer now, knowing that they're both too tired to really fight it out. Eddie presses his lips together in resignation, nods in acceptance, then pushes Buck towards the showers with a firm hand between Buck's shoulder blades. He doesn't say a word. 

Only after they're showered and changed does Eddie speak again. 

"Are you gonna come over?" There's hope in his voice. _Right, Christopher,_ Buck thinks. He isn't going to let Chris down, even if he does let Eddie down. There's a twisting feeling in his gut, thinking back to what Eddie said about Christopher missing him, and he tries desperately to ignore the feeling of disappointment that hangs there. Eddie looks expectantly at him, concern emanating from warm brown eyes. 

"Yeah. Let's go," Buck says quietly. The fight, not quite resolved, hangs in the air between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feelings are so hard to write :(   
> sorry about the late updates, school has started again and this chapter gave me a lot of problems. it was originally going to have more action, but it's probably too long so it's been split into two/three chapters!   
> thanks for reading! :) hope you're looking forward to the next chapter as much as i am!


	4. tell you all the reasons why i need you

Buck's back in his truck tonight, but he's not alone - since becoming partners with Flip (at least for the time being), he's never had to spend a night on the streets by himself. Every late night isn't accompanied by complete silence, but laughter and a warm feeling in his chest. A few days ago, Flip had brought a box of donuts and coffee along. The week before, Buck had brought his own lemon bars. 

They talk, Buck being more than happy to distract himself with conversation, probably sharing more than he has to, but Flip remains guarded and never shares more than he has to, shying away from topics about his life outside the job. 

Kind of reminds him of Eddie, actually. 

Tonight, Buck's mind is flooded with thoughts of the guy as he stares blankly out of his window. He's still thinking about their not-fight, like a massive burden on his shoulders, and he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't consuming his waking hours. He'd woken up with a weight on his chest that hadn't been there before, going about his day off, nerves still thrumming under his skin. 

They never really got to talk about it - and it wasn't for lack of opportunity. Buck has always prided himself on being open with his emotions and talking about his feelings (none of that toxic masculinity) but somehow, Eddie makes it difficult. Every time he tries to bring it up, it's either too late or too early or he's too tired or just _not now,_ which frustrates him to no end. 

He's tried to bring it up multiple times now: once at the end of a shift, once over dinner and once over drinks, but Eddie just sighs each time, runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. At this rate, the next time they talk about it would be when Buck is, once again, in life-threatening danger, but that's a situation he'd much rather avoid. 

But that wasn't the only thing that weighed heavily on Buck's mind - it was the combination of barely concealed anger and tension as well as something almost tender-hearted that made up Eddie's behaviour. One moment, the both of them are partners on the field and off, spending more and more time together out of work, and the next moment, Eddie's frowning, brows furrowed as if he has more to say. 

He really wishes Eddie would just come out and say what he wanted to say. It would save Buck the inane amount of time spent psychoanalysing his best friend.

The truth is, Buck knows he wants more. Eddie's kind and brave and funny and also undeniably hot, but Buck also knows that he's emotionally _limited_ and honestly? Buck isn't prepared to be in a relationship with someone who won't talk about how they're feeling. 

That isn't going to stop him from waiting, though. He hopes, desperately, that the fluttering in his chest means that one day, one day, they could work out. Eddie just has to be ready. 

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Buck's jolted out of thought, when Flip finally decides to break their silence. 

"Nothing much, just thinking about this guy from work," Buck replies, and he wonders if talking about Eddie with Flip would be weird. They're just _alike,_ somehow. 

"Good or bad?" 

"Mostly good," Buck blushes, "but also some not-so-good things." Taking Flip's silence as an invitation, Buck continues. 

"He's my best friend, right? I love working with him. And we spend time together both in and outside of work, probably more than what co-workers usually do, but recently we had this fight? He said that I needed to be less reckless with myself, but it's my job. If I can't even do my job properly, what worth do I really have?"

Flip opens his mouth to interrupt, but Buck doesn't wait to hear it. 

"And it's not just that. It's the way he said it - he said it like he cared, like he cared more than a friend would. And I want that, I want more, but he just keeps giving these mixed signals, you know? Like he can't really decide? Really makes me wonder if I'm just reading too much into everything he does, if I'm hyper-analysing his every move." 

"I'm just - so confused." It's incredibly relieving, to share this part of him that no one else is privy to. It's a secret, one of his best-kept ones, but Flip doesn't know him outside of this carefully built world for the two of them. 

Flip is silent for a long moment, before he slowly nods, piecing together Buck's words. He's staring down at his lap. 

"Maybe he just doesn't know how to show he cares," Flip says, face tilted ever-so-slightly away from Buck. "Maybe he doesn't really know what to say." 

It hits him like a fire truck. Perhaps he'd always known, a niggling feeling at the back of his mind screaming at him to notice it. Something about every move that Flip made reminded him about his best friend, and for some reason, it _made sense._ Their lives had become so closely intertwined. That even when pretending not to be themselves, they'd found each other. _Flip is Eddie. Eddie is Flip._

Buck studies him carefully in the off-yellow light of his truck. Eddie, or Flip, definitely knows - he's been in his truck too many times to count, Buck had even offered him Bobby's bagel bites, which had most definitely also been in Eddie's fridge. Buck had come close to professing his feelings for him right then and there. But if Eddie hadn't noticed before, he certainly isn't going to notice now. He blushes a little, hoping that it wouldn't be visible. _Why didn't Eddie say anything about it?_

Maybe Eddie's trying not to spook him. Maybe Eddie just wants some kind of getaway, where he doesn't have to be _Eddie,_ where he can just be a different person. Maybe Eddie doesn't think Buck's ready. Either way, Buck isn't going to say anything if he doesn't. 

Basking in his realisation, Buck doesn't know what to say in response. He isn't going to let this knowledge change anything. Until Eddie's ready to tell him everything, he'll wait. It's what he does best, after all. 

Doesn't mean he can't make the best of this situation. 

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Buck says, softly. 

"I know," comes the reply, just as softly. 

\- 

It takes weeks before the argument rears its ugly head again. Buck's lying on Eddie's sofa, eyes half-closed as Eddie puts Chris to bed. It'd been an obscenely long shift, calls almost back to back, and the sheer amount of running and jumping and lifting he'd done could rival his best gym days. His back was tight and aching, as he twisted and felt his spine pop. 

Even trying to relax his muscles into the worn leather of the sofa, he knows a storm is brewing. He'd climbed a drainpipe to get into the second floor of a burning house today, to get a cat - a _cat_ \- out of the room before the house came crumbling down, and he'd gotten a earful from Bobby but radio silence from Eddie, who was pointedly not talking about it. Sure, they'd laughed and joked as usual and he'd still ended up at video game night, but there was tension in every smile and every laugh. Makes him wonder when shit's going to hit the fan. 

"Buck. I think we need to talk." 

Ah - it's happening now, then. 

"Yeah, I think we do," he replies, deciding to at least try to communicate like functioning adults. 

Eddie sighs, and rubs his face in his hands. He looks tired, eyes ringed with dark circles, barely visible in the low light. Buck wonders why he's so tired all the time. 

"I'm sorry for reacting the way I did." 

That's not what Buck was expecting at all. He'd thought there would be a scolding, berating him for being _reckless_ and endangering himself again. Before he can reply, though, Eddie speaks again. 

"Truth is, Buck, I know that it's your job and it's just like you to run into burning buildings to save people, hell, cats, even. But every time I see you run into danger, like you did today, it makes me so... so scared." He sighs again. 

"I don't like feeling scared." Yeah, Buck can attest to that. "I just thought that I should explain myself - let you know that I'm trying to get over it." 

Buck wants to scream. Eddie's the first - the first person ever, no one has done this before - to try to understand Buck, to see things from his perspective, to get that Buck isn't as reckless as he might seem. _Might have something to do with him, you know, knowing about the powers and everything,_ Buck's brain helpfully supplies. But this makes him feel heard, makes him feel like Eddie's actually _listening,_ and if that doesn't make him feel things. 

"Wait - Buck - are you crying?" Eddie's panicked voice sounds through his reverie. He wipes at his face absently, and his fingers come away wet. 

"I - thank you, Eddie," he says, trying to stem the flow of tears. 

Eddie nods, and Buck can tell that there's emotion in his eyes. "I'll always try to understand, Buck. I know that you know what you're doing, that you understand the risks in anything you do, and I trust you to take care of yourself. I just - don't want to lose you. You're a hell of a partner, man." 

That just makes Buck cry a little harder. Tough, strong Eddie, trying to talk it out with him, trying to be vulnerable and open with his feelings. He's a little in love, he supposes. And for now, it seems like it's okay. 

"Thank you, Eds." Buck hopes, for a moment, that his words can convey every bit of intensity he feels. 

\- 

A couple days later, he gets a text from Quake. 

**Quake**

_Hey, what do you know about Valley's Baking supplies?_

**Buck**

_Nothing much. They sell baking stuff. I shop there sometimes?_

_Why? What's up?_

**Quake**

_Ha. You've been there on a few calls recently, right?_

_I'd gotten some information that there's something pretty fishy going on over there._

_Like flour isn't the only white powder they're selling, if you catch my drift._

Buck's mouth drops open in surprise. A quaint little shop like that, involved in drugs? 

Actually, that kind of makes sense. Certainly would explain the unnaturally high crime that goes through those doors. But Ellen - Buck hopes that she isn't caught up in anything that could put her in danger, or worse. 

**Buck**

_That would actually explain some things. Why are you telling me this, though?_

**Quake**

_Heard that there'll be a trade going down sometime soon. Since you're pretty familiar with the place, maybe you should handle it._

Great, a drug deal. Buck never questions how Quake gets her info - the last time he did, she'd just laughed in his face. 

That's how he finds himself sitting in his truck, in the alley next to the shop, for what seems like the millionth time this month. Frankly, he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this tiny, unassuming corner shop could be a base for drug trade. 

He tells Flip as much, but Flip (Eddie!) just seems thoroughly unimpressed. 

"It's always the ones you suspect least," he says, cryptically, and Buck doesn't pry. 

Headlights shine through the dark alley, before they quickly shut off. A man steps out of his car, thin and lanky. He's accompanied by a shorter, stockier man, and Buck strains to listen in on their conversation. 

"- important trade for us." 

"You know they can't be trusted," says the shorter man, clearly exasperated. He's not shouting, but he isn't exactly whispering either. The other man hushes him, before speaking again. 

"- threatening us. He's threatening my family, and Ellen," his voice trails off again, and Buck glances at Flip. His brows are also furrowed in concentration, but at the sound of Ellen's name, his eyes open wide.

"- gotta give them what they want," Buck hears, sensing resignation in the man's tone. He pieces the bits of conversation together, and takes note to tell Quake what he hears. He's about to pull out his phone, before another car turns into the narrow street, parking a short way from the alley. The two men stiffen at the sound, and Buck gets ready for what might happen next. 

Burly men climb out of the car, already looking far more intimidating that the first two men. If anything goes down, it sure isn't going to be a fair fight. They saunter up to the car. 

"Mr Lee. Good to finally meet you." There's an edge to his voice, dripping with venom. 

"Likewise," the thin man replies, but his voice is pinched. 

"Did you bring what we asked for?" 

"Yes. It's in the trunk." Lee's voice is remarkably steady for a man in such a dangerous position. They pop open the trunk, revealing bags of... something. Buck can't really see from such an angle. 

There's some murmuring, before something's going wrong - the burly man is stiffening, drawing himself up even taller. 

"We agreed on 10 packs. What's this nonsense?" He snarls, and then there's a glint of a knife, visible even in the darkness of the alley. Buck springs into action, as Lee is backed up into a wall, stammering. 

Focusing as hard as he can, he tosses the burly man against the wall of the alley, knocking him off his feet. Blue sparks fly, and Flip's far ahead of him, giving Buck a show of his fighting skills, again. Buck runs after him - it's a dire situation, there's no time for admiration. 

"Run," he says to Lee, but Lee stays there, rooted to the ground. Buck snarls, as he punches one of them in the face. Fights are always that much more stressful with bystanders at risk. He bunches his muscles up tight, delivering sheer power in his blows, hoping that Lee comes to his senses and makes a break for it. 

Beside him, Flip's a blur of action, appearing and disappearing and dealing blows to his two opponents. A flash, and he's disappearing, dodging a stray fist. Another flash, and he's digging an elbow into the space between shoulder blades, sending the man careening onto the concrete. 

Things seem to be going their way, when are things ever that simple? Buck's kicks one of the men against the wall - but he makes the mistake of letting his guard down - and then he's staring down the barrel of a gun. It isn't his first time around guns, far from it, but when he reaches out to knock the gun out of the man's hands, Lee screams, distracting him for a split second. 

The split second is enough for him to snatch the gun from his assailant's hands, but it's also enough for another gun to be drawn. _Figures,_ Buck thinks, _they like their guns._ He points his own piece of black metal, clutching it so tightly his fingers turn white. If it wasn't life-or-death, he would probably have made a joke about an old-fashioned cowboy stand-off. 

Distantly, he hears Flip scream, "shoot!" But he can't. He hesitates. His grip tightens, and he sucks in a breath in anticipation. He can't shoot, and now his assailant knows it too. 

Despite being slouched on the ground, the man smirks. In one swift motion, he swings his arm down, points the gun behind Buck, and fires. 

Buck turns around in time to see Mr Lee sink to his knees, red stain blossoming on his leg. _Fuck, that isn't good._

He drives the butt of the gun across the man's face with an audible crack, and he's out cold, slumped even further against the wall. He even kicks one of the other guys in the back of the knee, giving Flip the opportunity he needed to put him out of commission. 

But once they're done, once they're standing in the alley with bodies around them, first responder training kicks in. Crouching down next to Lee, Flip gingerly inspects the bullet wound. 

"Isn't looking good. Nicked the femoral artery, and the bullet's still lodged inside," Flip says tersely. Buck, still in a haze, vaguely registers that the femoral artery is pretty major. If they don't get to a hospital soon, Lee's going to bleed out. 

Flip doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at Buck, but he's grabbing on to Lee and disappearing in a cluster of blue sparks. Lee's friend, who has been eerily silent the whole time, takes a step towards the car, which startles Buck. 

"I'm gonna uh - I'm gonna go," he says, stammering and visibly uncomfortable. "Uh, thank you?" 

That's all Buck hears, before the man is climbing into the car and driving off into the night. 

_Fuck,_ Buck thinks, for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Lee's hurt because of him, and Flip is going to be mad about it. If only he pulled the trigger. If only he had knocked the guy out harder. If only his powers were stronger. If only - 

He sinks to the ground, chest heaving. He closes his eyes, and breathes in the rancid smell of the alley, mixed with the metallic odour of Lee's blood. It's been emotionally draining lately - dealing with the fallout from his own shortcomings again and again is always frustrating. Maybe he should bail before Flip comes back, but he can't bring himself to stand. All he sees is Lee's pale face and bloody handprints. 

He doesn't know how long he sits there, until blue sparks appear again. _Shit._ He should probably have bailed. Buck isn't sure how Flip's going to deal with this - how he's going to respond, if he's going to blame Buck for it. 

"What happened here, Lev?" Flip's tone is tight, like a rubber band about to snap. 

"I didn't want to shoot him," Buck replies, honestly. And it's the truth. Buck doesn't want to kill anyone, doesn't want to mess them up in ways that could take away their life. He isn't an excellent shot, not even in close range, but even if he was, he can't be sure that he would've pulled the trigger. 

"Why didn't you shoot him? He was _right there,_ " Flip snaps, clearly upset. "Lee's in the hospital, with severe blood loss, and all you can say is that you didn't want to shoot the guy? How would you explain it if he died?" 

"I don't want to be responsible for taking away someone else's life," Buck says, almost like he's pleading. 

"Well, you almost lost Lee's life today. Was it worth it?" Flip's bordering on anger now, hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

"What if he has a family? Children?" Buck tries to reason. 

"He's a bad guy, Lev. You should've killed him." 

This makes Buck genuinely see red. He'd been trying to plead with Flip, but it clearly isn't going to work. 

"What, and play judge, jury and executioner? You know I don't want to be put in the spot like that. You know how hard it is to take away a life? It isn't my role, isn't my place to decide whether he gets to live or die, Flip, I don't understand how you can just _say_ something like that - our job is to help people, not hurt them." Buck's standing now, not quite towering over Flip but assertive nonetheless. 

"Sometimes it's necessary to hurt some people to save another's life," Flip jabs a finger into Buck's chest. "We can't always play the absolute good guys, we have to make decisions sometimes, even if they hurt people. Some things cannot be avoided, Lev, and I think you need to know that. Things aren't black and white." 

"Whether he's a good person and deserves to be shot, Flip, isn't black and white either! Who am I to decide?" 

"You need to grow up, Lev. This is the real world. You can't just wish that you don't have to make tough choices." Flip says with a sense of finality, before he's vanishing again. 

Buck's simmering with anger, resentment, but there's an ache in his chest. How could Flip be so - so nonchalant about taking away a life, about shooting someone? Buck has always tried to keep people alive, make sure that there's no lasting damage, but Flip comes along with his idea that shooting someone, something that could destroy someone's life, is okay, just because he's done something wrong? 

Buck has never been a fan of the idea that people, once bad, are always bad. Borrowing Flip's words, things aren't always black and white. 

Hurt swirls around his chest, filling his ribs with a dull ache. He's tried to kept it secret, respect Eddie's privacy, but knowing that it's his best friend under the mask, the same one that promised he would _always try to understand,_ floods his heart with sadness. Were they just words? Why can't Eddie see what he sees? Why did Eddie leave him like that, alone in an alleyway, staring up into nothingness? Buck thinks he feels betrayed, and it hurts, like a gunshot to the stomach. 

He's never hated the blue sparks more. 

\- 

Buck has never been good at compartmentalising. Much as he tries to keep Buck and Levitate separate, he can't help but wince every time he looks at Eddie. It's a curse, he thinks, to have to see Eddie every day, knowing how they'd separated. Other things he can fix, but this? A difference in opinion, one that's literally life-or-death? Buck can't do it. 

It doesn't help that his heart still skips, that the dull pain in his chest doesn't stop his pulse from speeding up. This must be what hell feels like. 

Meanwhile, Eddie seems completely fine - to everyone else, at least. He's smiling and joking as usual - but if his smile feels too wide and his laugh too forced, eyes never meeting Buck's, Buck wouldn't know. He could just be projecting his feelings onto Eddie. So he laughs along, and averts his eyes, never making eye contact either. 

And so they continue to dance around each other, dance around the elephant in the room, avoiding each other yet stealing quick glances. It hurts Buck more than he'd care to admit. 

Buck continues being Levitate, but his truck is empty. The warmth of having someone else sit with him, side by side, even in silence, was something he never knew he needed, until now. He misses his best friend, his partner, even if Eddie technically hasn't gone anywhere. It sounds ridiculous, but it really isn't. 

But fate has a funny way of pulling them back together, Buck muses, as he stands outside an abandoned building, and sees Eddie, no, Flip, standing there too. 

"What are you doing here?" Flip says, no bite to his words, sounding more tired than anything. It might be petty, but Buck wants nothing more than to snap at him, to get angry for what he'd said, to give him a piece of his mind, make him suffer like Buck has been for the past week. 

Nevertheless, Buck tamps it down, and replies with faux calm, "Quake told me to come. Kidnapping." His words are short, clipped, trying hard not to reveal how _much_ he feels. 

Flip nods. "Me, too." 

Buck readies himself. Quake hadn't been given much information, only that it had to do with Buck's favourite baking supply store, and it had clearly been enough for her to send Levitate and Flip on it. 

She definitely had no idea what happened the last time they'd worked together, and as Buck feels tension, thick and viscous, between the two of them, he can't help but wonder if this is going to be a good idea. He feels distracted - confused, even. Definitely not at his best, not even close. But there is no way in hell that he's going to admit that, especially not in front of Flip. 

He should have sensed something wrong from the moment they entered the building. It was too quiet, the air too still, the building clearly dilapidated. If this had been any other call, he would've mentioned the eerie, ominous feeling overcoming him to Flip. But he doesn't, and they climb the crumbling stairs to the second floor without incident. 

There's a metal door, brown and rusted. Flip must hear something, because he signals for Buck to stop moving. Sure enough, there's rustling behind the doors, the soft thudding of footsteps, and Buck knows that this is it. 

Flip holds out his fingers, counts down from three, and then Buck is concentrating on flinging the doors open, denting the metal as he does it. It's a little reminiscent of the second time they'd met. Eddie moves first, as he always does, but Buck carefully takes stock of the situation. A girl - it's _Ellen_ \- is sitting in the middle of the room, hands bound, gagged and blindfolded. He focuses in on the guns - _yikes_ \- and flings them to the side, as far from reach as possible. 

Sure enough, the guards scramble towards the corners of the room, clamouring to retrieve their weapons, but Buck moves faster. He deals a blow to someone's cheek, a kick to someone else's chest, sending them sprawling to the ground. It isn't quite enough to render them unconscious, because they just stagger to their feet and lunge at Buck again. There's five of them, but Buck's bigger and stronger, dealing precise blows to their chests and knees that leave them lying on the floor. 

He chances a look at Flip - it's ironic, that even now, he can't take his eyes off the other man - and he's dancing around his opponents, easily outmanoeuvring them with the same grace that Buck has come to associate with him. But he's slow, movements just a little more sluggish than usual. Anyone who'd spent less time watching him than Buck did would never notice, but of course Buck notices. 

He's knocked both of them out, probably giving them a concussion that they'll regret waking up from in a few hours. His hands work quickly on the knot on the blindfold that obscures Ellen's vision, and she winces when the fluorescent light enters her eyes, before realisation and relief flood her expression. 

"It's alright. I'm here," he mouths, and she nods furiously, face dirt-streaked and tear-stained. 

Even under these circumstances, they still work perfectly together. Typical. Irrationally, it angers Buck, just a little. 

He's almost done untying her hands, when things go south. 

Here's how it starts: footsteps echoing outside the room, Flip's eyes widening. 

"You." Buck hears a snarl as the man sees him. He's familiar, face bearing a nasty gash that Buck knows was his handiwork. He lifts his gun, pointing at Buck. It's a sick reversal of their roles a few days ago, but somehow, Buck knows that he's not going to miss. 

He doesn't, can't do anything before the shot echoes throughout the room. Flip is collapsing in front of him. 

The stain spreads around his torso, pooling onto the ground as he slumps, crimson puddle only getting bigger. His eyes are open, staring at Buck with an indescribable intensity. Seeing Flip, seeing _Eddie_ lying there rips something from Buck. It fills him with rage, with fear, with something so primal that he can't control it. 

Buck screams. The sheer emotion radiates off him, bursting through the air like a shockwave. It flings everyone away from him - there's the sound of bones cracking against the walls of the room, the crashing of old pipes bursting, glass crashing, and the earth shakes. Buck screams for his best friend, for his Eddie, screams in pure, unadulterated hatred for the man who'd shot him. Beneath his feet, cracks wind through the concrete, plaster raining down from the ceiling. 

The man in question, collapsed in a heap, doesn't respond. He lies there, unnaturally still.

His breath runs out, and as he stands there, chest heaving amidst a room of silent chaos, he tries to pull himself together, force himself to _think._

_Eddie. Eddie!_

He's lying on the ground, eyes still open and chest still rising and falling. His eyes are wide, and he almost says something when Buck growls. 

"Don't move." 

His mouth snaps shut, and Buck hoists him up, tells Ellen, "I'll be back," and runs. He doesn't stop running until he reaches the street, feet racing down the staircase. Eddie is placed carefully on the ground, bloody but responsive, and Eddie makes a feeble grab at his arm. 

Buck shrugs it off, before he's running back in. The walls around him crack, crumble, the stairs on the brink of giving out. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to get to Ellen. He's racing against a ticking clock, he knows, as he fumbles with the knots binding her wrists. 

He's almost there, about to get her hands out of their constraints, when the man staggers to his feet. It's getting tiring, almost exhausting even. Before he can regain his footing, Buck glares at him, and he's flying, skull cracking against the ceiling with a sickening snap. In that moment, Buck can't help but feel a sick satisfaction. 

He lifts Ellen, throwing her into a fireman's hold, and moves. The building is collapsing, and even though he's had his fair share of surviving collapsing, _burning_ buildings, he'd still rather not try his luck this time. It's been one too many close calls. 

Outside, he unceremoniously drops Ellen on the ground, trying to catch his breath, only wincing and mouthing a "sorry" when she glares. His back aches, but there's a small twinge of acute pain. 

"Hospital," is all he manages to say, before he gingerly picks Eddie up again. Ellen shakily gets to her feet, running after him. 

\- 

It's the longest, slowest drive of his life. The roads are deserted, but every turn reminds him that his best friend, his _Eddie,_ is currently bleeding out in the backseat. 

"Lev- I-" Buck hears him croak from the back of his truck, where Ellen is holding him in place. 

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie. I'm taking you to a hospital. Save your energy," Buck snaps, knowing that whatever comes out from Eddie's mouth isn't something that he wants to hear. He doesn't even realise his slip until it's too late.

"You- you know?" Eddie seems genuinely surprised, bless his soul. 

Buck tightens his grip on the steering wheel, as they pull up into the parking lot of the hospital. 

"Of course I knew," Buck says, softly this time. "I'll always know when it's you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh this chapter has taken so long to write - i've been having exams and they just ended two days ago. it's been really fun writing this though, i think it's my favorite thus far! only one more chapter left! :)
> 
> hope you've enjoyed this! :)))


	5. can't help falling in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the last chapter for this fic, also a very short one, and i wanna thank everyone for reading and commenting and leaving kudos! it's been really enjoyable writing this, and i would love to continue writing for this au.

Eddie wakes to the sound of machines beeping and the familiar, quiet bustling of a hospital ward. As his eyes flicker open, squinting in the bright light of the room, he struggles to remember how he ended up here. 

_The burly man from the alley. A gun. Buck._

Memories come flooding back to him. He scrabbles at the hospital sheets, trying desperately to get up, turn over, _look for Buck._

He twists a little too frantically, because there's a sharp pain racing through his side and he's slumping back into his original position, too drained to move. 

The rapid beeping of his heart monitor must attract a nurse's attention, because she's running into his room, clipboard in hand. _Jessica,_ her nametag reads. 

"Mr Diaz, glad you're finally awake. It was touch-and-go on the operating table, but it's good that you've woken up. You're currently on a small dose of morphine, but you'll most likely make a full recovery. We'll need you to take it easy for a few weeks, though. Your family will be most glad to know you're awake." 

She gestures at the sofa in his room, and Eddie has to gingerly crane his neck to peer at it. Maybe he should ask for a higher dose of morphine, because what he sees makes his tender heart ache.

Buck is curled up onto the sofa, entire six-foot-two body crammed into a two-seater sofa with barely enough cushioning. He looks impossibly small, curled up in a position that cannot possibly be comfortable for him. He's curled away from Eddie, so he can't see Buck's face, but the tension in Buck's shoulders, even as he sleeps, belies his anxiety. 

"He hasn't left since he brought you in, you know," Jessica says. "You're lucky to have family like that." 

Eddie's stunned. "We're not- how long was I out?" A cold panic settles in his gut. The way Jessica spoke, it seemed like he'd been here for some time. _Christopher._

"It's currently noon, so about a day and a half?" Jessica says, oblivious to his internal monologue, "your son and grandmother did come in yesterday to see you, too." 

Shit, Eddie thinks. He'd gone and gotten himself into a position like this, made Chris have to see his other parent - the only one left - lying helpless in a hospital bed. Losing his mother had rendered Chris inconsolable for weeks, Eddie can't imagine what he must've felt seeing his dad like this. 

Never again, he'd sworn. 

He was in Texas the last time this happened. He'd been making a big name for himself there, taking down organised crime, until he wasn't. He'd followed a gang member down an alley, right into a trap. Beaten within an inch of his life, was what Shannon had said, anger palpable as she saw him in the hospital room. Shannon had known. She hadn't liked it, but she couldn't stop him. 

What would Chris do, she would ask, without his dad? He'd wanted to tell her, that things wouldn't change, that Chris didn't need him as long as she was around anyway. 

Until she wasn't around anymore and he was alone. 

He stopped fighting in Texas, throwing himself into his work and caring for Chris. Even on nights where he had the time, he didn't have the energy. And truthfully, he couldn't bring himself to step back out into the night. There was too much to lose, and he'd been reminded of every bruise and cut that he'd had to recover from.

So Flip disappeared from Texas. Eddie reappeared in his son's life. 

His move to LA had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Meeting Buck, getting back into his vigilante life, wasn't part of the plan. He'd been going to the store when he'd seen Adam bleeding out in an alley, and it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Truth be told, he'd missed the chase, the satisfaction of catching bad guys, the purpose of taking crime off the streets. 

When the opportunity was placed in front of him on a silver platter, he took it. 

And Levitate had been a wonderful partner, not just on the job, but as a friend. He'd realised it was Buck - those stupid bagel bites - realised that Levitate turned out to be his best friend, a person that had wormed his way into Eddie's heart, tore down the steel walls surrounding them. 

On hindsight, it wasn't all that surprising. 

He didn't want Buck to know, hoping that Buck wouldn't stop him with concerns about leaving Chris behind. Hypocritical, he knows, but he'd just discovered his life, his purpose again, and he wasn't about to give it up. 

He'd been playing it safe, he'd been lucky, up until that night. Still, he wouldn't have done anything differently. He'd still have taken that bullet for Buck. 

He didn't know what possessed him, in that split second, to make sure that Buck was okay. His body must have moved on its own. He should've guessed that when he came down to it, he'd protect Buck. 

Because, beneath his stoic exterior, Eddie knew exactly how he felt about Buck. 

The moment they'd met, Eddie found his ridiculous posturing entertaining. Buck acted like a little puppy trying to protect his territory, until he didn't. After the ambulance, it was adorable, the way he'd gone from all macho to sunshine smiles with a simple compliment. And Eddie would be lying if he didn't want to see that smile all the time. 

Working together at the station gave Eddie even more time to spend with him - working side by side, shoulder to shoulder, made Buck stand out. Sure, physically, he was absolutely stunning, but his commitment to serve, to the job, was enough to make Eddie admire the guy. He was born to be a firefighter, and he knew it. His devotion, his loyalty, all that _heart,_ made him truly shine. 

Then he'd introduced Eddie to Carla. Like Buck, Carla was probably an angel sent from the heavens. She'd helped with his expenses, helped with his time, had become such an integral part of Eddie and Chris' lives. It was amazing, the way she was around Chris. But Buck had seen through Eddie's blustering "I'll be okay" and gave him help, not in the overbearing way that he'd fled from, but in a way that enabled. He'd helped Eddie help himself. It was in that moment that Eddie had known that Buck was here to stay, and that if he tried to leave, Eddie would be helpless. 

Every call that Buck spends running directly into danger sends Eddie's heart into overdrive. It was one of those calls that he'd had the revelation, an epiphany that what he'd been feeling wasn't exactly hundred percent platonic. 

It's been a downward spiral since then. Buck's eyes, his smile, his loving personality, filled up his and Chris' home with so much joy that he can't help but fall. 

Can't help falling in love with you, he thinks. So cliche. 

His eyes drift over to where Buck lies, shirt stretched thin over his shoulders. He'd gotten a change of clothes, probably when Chris and abuela had visited. 

Before that call, they'd fought. Eddie could probably count the number of times they'd fought on one hand, but each time, it had taken days, if not weeks, for them to figure it out. Stubborn and obstinate, his parents had called him, and it wasn't untrue. 

But he shouldn't have tried so hard to push his views on Buck. He'd realised this not too long after he'd left Buck in that alley. 

He'd spent his life having views pushed on him. Join the army, fight for your country. Don't you want to be a patriot? Stay at home, take care of your son. Don't you want to be a better father? 

It had never made him feel any better about himself. On hindsight, he knew how it felt, to have people who are supposed to care about you, supposed to listen, push things like this onto him. He'd wanted to apologise, but he didn't know how. 

Probably his greatest weakness, Eddie supposes. Apologising. 

On the sofa, Buck stirs. He stretches his arms above his head, hitting the wall with a thunk, before rolling over. 

His eyes catch Eddie's, fixed on him, and all movement stops. 

"You look like shit," Eddie says, completely aware of how he's the one lying in a hospital bed. He doesn't know what else to say. 

It isn't false, either, because Buck's eyes are red-rimmed and his hair looks like it has almost been pulled from its roots. Buck's also completely aware of the irony of the situation, because he lets out a short, surprised laugh. 

"You do too," he says, "how are you feeling?" 

"Better. I'm on morphine, but I don't think it's enough. I don't feel high enough." 

The silence feels jilted, and Buck looks down at the floor, but Eddie's eyes are still trained on him. 

"Buck. I'm sorry." 

Ha. Take that, old Eddie, look at him, consciously working on his issues. 

Buck looks up at him, and there are tears in his eyes. 

"Are you? Do you know what seeing you like this has done to me? Do you know that I had to call abuela, tell her that her grandson is in hospital, getting surgery after getting shot, knowing that it was my fault? Do you know that I had to look Chris in the eye, tell him that his dad was going to be fine, even though I didn't know if you'd ever wake up? You don't, Edmundo Diaz." 

"I'm so fucking angry at you, for taking that risk. I'm fucking angry at myself, for not stopping you from doing this sooner. It's dangerous, it's risky, and you've got too much to lose. And I didn't want to have to lose you, too." 

Buck's voice gets softer and softer, tears coming full force. 

"Buck. Evan. Come here," Eddie says, not quite knowing what to say. 

He hesitantly shuffles over to Eddie's bed, before Eddie is reaching up - ignoring the pain in his abdomen - and pulling him into a hug. 

"I'm sorry," Eddie whispers, "but it isn't your fault. I took this risk, I knew the consequences. But when he fired that bullet, I knew I couldn't lose you, either. I'm lucky, Buck, look on the bright side. We're both alive." 

Buck's eyes are filled with such doubt, but also relief. God, Eddie loves how expressive his eyes are. If asked, Eddie blames those eyes for what he says next. 

"I love you." It's sudden, too sudden, but Eddie's never been the best at timing. His feelings just bounce around his chest until they become too much and they come spilling out of him. 

Buck's eyes widen in surprise. Has Eddie mentioned how much he likes those eyes? 

"Obviously I love you too," Buck replies, hand gripping Eddie's forearm. He says it like a fact, traces of residual anger still in his voice. 

"Good," Eddie says, staring up at him. There's tenderness in his chest. 

He knows that later, when both of them have gotten the rest they need, there's lots to talk about, lots to resolve, but in this moment, it's just the two of them.

Buck really is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's the end! thank you everyone, once again, for being here! hope you liked it! :)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! thanks for reading! :))) 
> 
> find me on tumblr @forrestffires!


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